Unpredictable
by theothertwin
Summary: Girls were always cold. Fortunately, there was plenty of Fred to go around. Or there used to be, before Hermione. Nowadays, there was just enough of him for her, so long as she'd make up her mind about if she wanted that or not.
1. Potions and Rubbish

**Disclaimer: Although Fred Weasley may own my heart, I do not own him or anything else Harry Potterish. It's all the lovely J.K. Rowling's. **

**Note: Well, here's for my first Harry Potter fic. It's Fred Weasley/Hermione Granger, and for those of you who haven't read my Star Wars fic: basically, this revolves around the general plot of the newest movie more than it does the book, though there are elements from both, but with enough AU to make it workable with the couple. I use scenes directly from the movie and incorporate different emotions behind them…this is going to start off sluggishly, I imagine, but bear with me if you will! **

**NOTE 4/21/11: I've begun the long process of "updating" these old chapters. I just can't take it anymore. Call me OCD, but I've got to do it. That's all. Expect to see some inconsistancy in the writing style of the varying chapters until all the updating's done.**

* * *

"The whole thing is a load of rubbish, if you ask me," Ron said as he viciously plunged his spoon into his pudding. Hermione glanced up with a stifled sigh, closing her copy of _The_ _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, _which had been resting in her lap under the Gryffindor table.

"I think the age limit is very logical…we wouldn't know nearly enough material to compete in the tasks, even if they've been made safer. I read in _Hogwarts, A History_ that in the 1893 tournament-"

"Somebody did something and died. I know," Ron muttered and rolled his eyes, proceeding to glare at Hermione's book as though it were responsible for his not being eligible to compete.

"But Dumbledore's here now, isn't he?" Harry, who was sitting on the other side of the table from his two friends, piped up through a mouthful of what looked to be meatloaf. "He wouldn't let anything get out of hand."

Hermione fixed her eyes on her two friends in a disbelieving stare. Honestly, sometimes they had the thickest heads…

"Yes, but Harry, Dumbledore is probably one of the people who elected the age limit. I'm sure he's fully aware of his capabilities, and yet he's still taking precautions. That ought to say something," she concluded, glancing disdainfully at a handful of Beauxbaton girls as they swept by, giggling. Ron swiveled in his seat and watched the girls' backsides until they had seated said backsaides at the Ravenclaw table, out of his view. Maybe this was why Hermione had hardly ever been given more than a glance from boys around Hogwarts: she could care less how much her backside swaggered, so long as she made it to class in time.

If anything was worse than the Beauxbatons and their giggles and their backsides, it was the multitude of noisy whispers that Viktor Krum invoked any time he was near. He was only so well liked because he was famous, and that frustrated Hermione, not that it was any of her business. The whispers were just distracting, that was all.

"We've got it all worked out," a deep voice said, and she looked up with a frown at Fred and George Weasley as they sat next to the trio. Lee Jordan was in tow, his eyes bright with excitement.

"How to enter the tournament," George finished proudly, helping himself to some pumpkin juice and downing it in one gulp.

Hermione snorted, opening her mouth to explain that they might as well stop while they were ahead, but Ron cut her off. "Tell me and Harry! We want in!" Harry said nothing, but his eyes were twinkling, maybe reflecting daydreams of glory and winnings. Fred helped himself to the fruit pie Ronhad been saving and swatted down his little brother's hands with a wicked grin.

"Sorry, Ron. I'm sure the Goblet of Fire won't tell the difference when a genius fools it, but if a complete git enters his name, I bet it'll spit it right back out." Adding injury to insult, Fred raised the fork loaded with Ron's pieand with one bite devoured the entire thing. Harry laughed with the others, but stopped when he noticed the clock against the wall.

"Ron," his mouth twisted unhappily, "Double Divination today."

"Oh, right." This seemed to top off Ron's foul mood. He stood up, gathering his things, and muttered glumly to Hermione, "Doesn't that mean you've got Arithmancy?"

Hermione sighed. "Cancelled." She waved goodbye, shaking her head at their jealous expressions, and bowed her head back over her book, rereading a familiar paragraph ("The _Orchideous_ spell is often imitated by muggles who attempt their hand at magic…flowers are expelled from the wand tip upon the simple movement of…") until she realized Fred, George, and Lee were still there, and whispering darkly, their heads in a huddle.

George was saying, "No, no, she's dating that Ernie prat, isn't she?" as Fred shrugged and scratched something out in a leather book he was holding open. Hermione marked her page and cleared her throat loudly. The twins and Lee slowly raised their heads as if noticing her for the first time, badly feigned innocence all over their faces. Fred grabbed the pitcher of pumpkin juice at his elbow and held it up.

"More pumpkin juice, Hermione?"

"What are you three doing? Don't you have History with Professor Binns?" Hermione asked, ignoring Fred as he topped off her goblet.

"Oh," George grinned at his twin knowingly, "we thought we could better our education in other ways this afternoon."

"You're _skipping_ class?" she whispered the word like it was vulgar.

"Just improving the time that could have been spent sleeping in an uncomfortable desk." Fred shrugged, fingering something that looked like a sweet, but didn't fool Hermione for one second

"This has to do with Wheezing Wizard Weasleys, doesn't it?" she asked, glaring a glare to rival the best of McGonnagal's.

Fred overemphasized each syllable as he corrected, "Weasley Wizard Wheezes. And yes, actually, it does. Why? Fancy a purchase?" he asked, brandishing a fake wand out of thin air and holding it under her nose. Hermione surveyed the three, flatly disbelieving. After spending the last few weeks of summer at The Burrow, she knew for fact that Mrs. Weasley would be outraged to hear about even that one little sweet. And yet...she couldn't bring herself to scold them as she might've. The sweets were quite clever, and _mostly_ harmless.

"No, thank you," she sighed, surrendering. "What are you working on now?"

Lee was caught so off guard by her curiosity, he answered honestly, "Love potions."

"_What_?" Hermione yelped and jumped, knocking her plate onto Fred's lap. Fred gave a yelp as hot food steamed on his legs, but swallowed down his curse words as Hermione whipped her wand and made the mess disappear with a little snap of her wrist. Was it her imagination, or was Fred actually showing a bit of the Weasley blush around his ears? Funny. But that wasn't the point. Love potions, besides being prohibited from Hogwarts, were sometimes even illegal outside the school as well.

"What?" George asked innocently, big-eyed. "It's just a bit of research, that's all. Honest to Merlin. We thought you'd appreciate our motivation, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head furiously. Honestly, it was no wonder Molly Weasley had grown so used to assuming the twins were up to no good.

"Those are extremely difficult to brew! If you mess with those ingredients…"

"Oh, they're already brewed," Lee said proudly, nodding at his two best friends proudly. Hermione paused, shocked, and then looked long and hard at the book in Fred's hand.

"What, this?" He flashed a mischevious smile to put any mother on the edge of her seat. "We're just sorting out who we can test them on guiltlessly."

Hermione jumped to her feet, and her chair toppled backwards, saved from crashing to the floor only by Fred's beater reflexes.

"You…cannot…test…those…here," she seethed. Lee was staring at Hermione like she was some foul monster only now unleashed from behind the mask of a kitten, but the twins just shrugged. "Fine," she said shortly, fuming. She bent to pick up her backpack and shuffle her book inside. As she was turned, Fred pulled a vial from his robe pocket, pulled out its teeny cork, then poured the teeniest drop of liquid in her pumpkin juice. When she turned back around, he was straightening his cloak back over his chest and winking at his brother in victory.

"Don't be mad at us, Hermione," he said. "We've got to make a living somehow."

Scowling, Hermione snatched up her goblet of pumpkin juice and her remaining half of toast. She took a large bite from the toast, cast them a parting glare as she chewed, and then marched from the great hall, sipping her juice as she went. When at last her bushy brown head had disappeared through the doors, the boys burst out laughing, Lee nearly collapsing from his chair.

Fred took a bow as though accepting an award, snickering. It wasn't anything against Hermione...even though she could be a right pain in the you-know-what (not to be confused with You Know Who), Fred had a soft spot for her. Mostly because she was completely hopeless.

George's laughter died out as he consulted Fred's notes in their leather book.

"We'd better be careful," he said, suddenly grim. "Remember that Parkinson girl we slipped the potion to yesterday? She fell for the first boy she saw - poor Neville, scared him right out of his wits. If Hermione sees someone like that slimy Malfoy first, she'll never forgive us. Neither will mum." He gave a shudder, hearing the howler screaming already. Lee froze, and Fred grumbled a curseword that made Lavender and Parvati pause over their dinner and stare at him.

"Fine, fine." He stood and gathered his things, waving half-heartedly at the other two, who were doubled over laughing again, this time at his expense, the gits. He jogged from the great hall, not stopping until he caught sight of the back of the familiar bushy head.

"Hermione! Wait!" he called, panting.

"No, George! I'm writing your mum and that's it!" she spat over her shoulder, chin held high.

"I'm Fred."

"Fine, _Fred_! But she's still your mum!"

"Now, wait just a second," Fred pleaded as he fell into step beside her. "It's not all that-"

"Really, Fred, I've had enough. You can't just…go and…" Hermione's voice began trailing off as she her walk fell slower and slower. She couldn't really place what she was feeling. A strange lack of care for the books on her back, a strange longing to do something _rebellious_…she couldn't even remember what she'd been saying. Or who she had been speaking to. Oh, wait. Fred.

She suddenly felt...warm. And confused, like there were multiple voices arguing in her head. Fred was looking down at her, teasing, but worried. It was absolutely adorable. Suddenly, she realized she was speaking - saying words she had no control over. She dropped her bag at her feet, kicked it aside, and went up to her tiptoes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him. _That's_ what she had been saying. Everything was becoming oddly meaningless outside the bubble the two of them were in together...her and Fred Weasley...she closed her eyes and leaned in...

"Hermione!"

Her eyes snapped open. She blinked. Fred was shaking her shoulders, and he looked terrified at their proximity; another few inches, and the kiss would've been closed. Yelping, Hermione took a hasty step backwards, tripped over her bag, and toppled onto her bottom with a grunt.

"You…did you just…" Hermione stammered, remembering the pumpkin juice, the leather notebook, Fred's mischevious grin. "Oh…oh my…"

"Easy, now," Fred said, hands raised as Hermione came shakily to her feet, turning as red as a ripe turnip and looking meaner than a Norwegan Ridgeback.

"You awful little...you...you foul..." she hissed in a tone usually reserved for Draco Malfoy. What did he think she was, some sort of guinea pig, available because she was friends with his brother? She gave a great lurch towards him, growling as she brandished her wand, meaning to hex that little smile right off his face. She didn't know if she'd ever been so humiliated - and that was saying something!

"Settle, Hermione," Fred said gently, pushing down her wand and winking at her. Hermione wasn't fooled. His eyes kept twitching back to the wand; he knew she was fully capable of making him wail like an infant mandrake. "I won't tell anyone."

Eying him doubtfully, Hermione doubled over to gather up her things from the floor, Fred stooping to help her gather her spilled quills . As she straightened, she noticed George and Lee hurrying their way, wearing grins that made her face go red all over again.

"Oi." Fred caught her arm as she turned to go, and she looked at him, surprise overcoming anger when she realized he was actually being serious. "We won't record that. I swear. Alright?"

Hermione felt a surge of gratitude and relief, and curtly nodded, shrugging off his hold on her arm.

"Just one last thing," Fred said, dropping his voice so that Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. Being this near to his face reminded her of a moment ago, when she'd been about to_...No! No no! Don't think about it! You might have a relapse! _She casually leaned away, her heart drumming uncomfortably in her ears.

Suddenly grinning, Fred said, _"_Do you really think I have beautiful eyes?" He batted his lashes, and with a growl of exasperation, Hermione turned and marched away.

* * *

"Why are you being so quiet? Working on _spew_, I suppose?" Ron asked that night in the common room, looking over his upside-down book at Hermione. Harry glanced up from his astronomy charts, his eyebrows raised over his glasses. Hermione continued importantly shining the badge on her chest.

"S.P.E.W, _Ronald_," she corrected and leaned over to turn his book right-side up for him. "And no. I'm just thinking."

"Oh, good." Harry grinned and marked down what looked to be another near-death prediction for Divination. "We were worried it was something out of the ordinary."

Hermione smiled and flicked an empty inkbottle at him, which he caught as easily as a snitch. Thankfully, he didn't ask what she was thinking about. She didn't think neither him nor Ron would ever let her hear the end of it if she told them she'd been wondering what all she had said to Fred while she was in her lovesick trance. She had to stop thinking about him. It. The incident. She suspected there were still trace amount of the potion in her system, because she kept embarrassedly wondering to herself what it would have been like if she _had_ kissed Fred.

"The Weasley twins are making love potions now," a voice giggled across the room. Hermione's heart tried to stop as she lifted herself out of her chair to see Lavender and Parvati walking in the portrait hole together, gossiping as usual. "I heard them telling Hermione so at lunch."

When they didn't mention Hermione again - specifically, her almost kiss - Hermione sat back down, still uneasy. She knew Fred had sworn not to tell anyone, and for whatever reason, she believed him, but still, she felt...anxious. Teasing, she could take (going to school with people like Malfoy and Pansy made it practically routine), but this was different. This was her reputation.

"That's right we are," George's voice drifted down the stairwell as he and Fred descended from their dormitories. "And soon, they'll be on the market!"

"No, they most certainly will not," Hermione said hotly, shushing Lavender and Parvati's giggles. "They're abuse to whoever drinks them!"

Fred's smile hardly faltered as he replied, "Oh, they aren't that bad. Besides, we still have to develop them in cherry and strawberry flavors."

"That's not what I meant, Fred Weasley, and you know it. I meant that they are a foul way to take advantage of someone."

"And you'd know, Hermione?" Harry asked curiously, exchanging a look with Ron. Hermione had always been disapproving of the twins, but she'd never been quite so forward about it.

Swallowing, drawing herself up to her full height, Hermione said, "Well…yes! Yes, I would!"

There was a pause as Parvati and Lavender crowded nearer, looking eager. Fred cleared his throat and tugged his collar, while George was suddenly very interested in the hem of his robe.

"Wait…what?" Ron asked, his eyes twitching between the twins and Hermione. He looked like he didn't know whether or not he was supposed to be angry or not.

Hermione bravely planted her hands on her hips, glowering at Fred till he gave a great sigh of resignation and said, "Alright, alright, we tried one on her at dinner. The symptoms only lasted a few short minutes, and look at the lovely recovery our Hermione has made!" He gestured grandly at Hermione, who was still shaking her head at him.

He didn't know what bothered him more, the fact she was so ashamed to have come close to sharing a romantic moment with him, or that he didn't like that she was so ashamed to have, etc. etc. Hermione Granger had always been on the unavailable roster, off limits because of Ron's secret feelings for her and because...well...she was Hermione Granger. He supposed it was just the idea that she was unavailable that livened his interest. That, and it wasn't often someone looked at him with big brown eyes and asked him to kiss her like she really cared. Not that she did. That was just the love potion talking, of course.

Ron was clearly gathering up steam for an explosion - how Hermione couldn't see how jealous he was, Fred didn't know - so Harry said, "Let's go down to The Great Hall. We've got an hour before the Goblet delivers the names, and I want to see who's entering."

Fred and George watched them go, and Fred's mind snapped out of its Hermione-musings as he turned to face George with a grin matching his twin's.

"Know what this means?"

"Time to enter?"

"Exactly. Got the potions?"

"Absolutely. Let's go."

"Right."

* * *

As Fred and George

"It's not going to work!" Hermione sang in greeting as they stopped before her. Fred and George exchanged a look and sat down on either side of her, Fred straddling the bench and leaning towards her in mock interest. This marked three times in the last day they'd been this close. He kept noticing new little things about her face he hadn't before...her eyelashes...the few freckles on her nose...

"Why's that?" Fred asked, shaking his head at himself.

Hermione closed her book with a snap and pointed and the blue circle surrounding the pedestal holding The Goblet of Fire. "See that? That's an Age line." She went on about Dumbledore laying it himself, and how they would never fool it, but Fred and George just laughed. She'd see. Likely be impressed, too, Fred found himself thinking. He shook his head, more forcefully this time, to clear it. He'd been sniffing too many potions.

"Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George."

Together, they downed their potions and simultaneously leapt from Hermione's bench over the age line. The Great Hall held its collective breath. For a glorious moment, Fred thought they had done it, and he found himself turning to grin smugly at Hermione. But before he took so much as two steps, the blue fire of the goblet exploded out of itscup and hammered his and George's chests so that they flew back out of the age line. Fred landed with a thud, his face tingling all over. Startled, he touched his chin. He had grown a full white beard and a long head of hair to match. _George_!

"You said-" he started angrily at the same time George growled, "You said-"

"Fight, fight, fight, fight!"

It seemed everyone was cheering, but Fred hardly heard, because his ears were buzzing as he roped an arm around George's head and wrestled him to the ground. All those galleons...the glory, the fame...gone. George elbowed him in the stomach with a, "Take this one!" and Fred coughingly doubled up, surrendering.

He belatedly realized the cheering had stopped, and a weighty silence had fallen over the hall. Viktor Krum strode confidantly by them, and even though Fred thought he was a brilliant seeker, he scowled as Krum passed over the age line without pause and dropped his name into the flaming Goblet. Not because of Krum being elligible to enter...but because he was staring at Hermione.

* * *

Fred grumpily ran a hand over his thick white beard , approaching the hospital wing at a slouching walk. George marched nearly a full corridor ahead, as the two were not quite back on civilized terms. Fred fully intended to slip a few filibuster fireworks in George's bedsheets tonight.

"Fred!" Fred glanced up, bushy white eyebrows raised, and looked over his shoulder at Hermione as she came to a breathless stop beside him.

"Come to say 'I told you so', have you?"

Hermione covered her mouth with a hand, but even then, her eyes were smiling. "Do I even have to?"

The two paused, lingering awkwardly.

"I'd have thought a partier like yourself would be down in the common room," Fred said, looking over his shoulder for George. His twin had gone.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would say the same for you, but I imagine you're simply anxious to look your age again," she said, poking at his beard. Fred fought hard not to flush under her touch, and that's when he knew something was off. A few weeks ago he'd snogged one of the Beauxbatons who looked so much like a veela, and even that hadn't made him go red like he was going now. "No, I just came to say…it's all right. I'm not writing your mum, since you didn't tell everyone about…what I nearly did…"

"What, you mean when you told me you loved my smile, and that you wanted to-"

"Yes, _that_!" she said hotly, not looking at him.

"Right. Well…bye then?"

"Yes. Good luck with the beard."


	2. For Mudbloods and Mothers

When Fred woke the nextmorning, his hand went immediately to his face, which was now smooth and mercifully beardless. He moaned and pulled his scarlet blanket up over his head, listening to the disgruntled sounds of George and Lee waking up in their own beds. As Fred stretched his legs, his foot knocked their product notebook from the foot of his bed to the floor of the dormitory. Immediately, yesterday and Hermione shot to the front of his mind. It had been nice of her, agreeing not to write Mum. But it was a little odd, her following him all the way to the hospital wing to tell him so.

"Get up, oaf," George groggily ordered, slapping the mass of blankets piled on Fred's chest. "Loads to do today."

Fred reached in vain for the wand on his nightstand. He hadn't entirely forgiven George yet, and there was no reason for him to be chipper. They'd thrown a party in the Gryffindor common room last night to celebrate Harry's bizarre acceptance into the Triwizard Tournament. Fred, George, Lee, Katie, Alicia, and Angelina had been the last to go to bed, after a game of exploding snap slash truth or dare.

Suddenly, Fred's bed tilted to the side, and with a strangled yelp he fell to the cold floor of the dormitory. Before he could stand all the way up, a pair of clean trousers hit him in the face, and a wadded-up fresh shirt flew at his chest. It seemed George hadn't entirely forgiven him, either.

* * *

"G'morning, sunshine." Angelina grinned as the somewhat still-sleeping Fred took a seat across from her. In response, Fred stole the fresh goblet of orange juice she had just poured herself.

"My, don't you three look sprite and fresh," Katie greeted as Lee sat down and missed the fork he was reaching for.

George, whose hair was tousled, commented dryly, "We're only still a bit appalled at the dance you did for us during that round of exploding snap."

Katie finished out the rest of her plate in silence, scowling, and then her, Alicia, and Angela rose to go, leaving their seats open for Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who joined the twins and Lee a moment later. Fred and George exchanged a look as Ron and Harry sat on either side of Hermione, stony, formal, and refusing to look at each other. Fred would guess that Ron didn't take well to the whole Harry being named champion, thing. Yes, it was probably hard, living in the shadow of the boy who had been mutilated with a scar as a baby and lost everything and then grown up ignorant in an oppressive muggle world...very hard...

"Well," Hermione began, clearly forcing conversation. "Today should be interesting. I heard a rumor that Hagrid is going to show us Madame Maxime's horses, which I think-"

"Hand me the biscuits," Harry grumpily ordered.

Hermione glanced at the platter right in front of Ron. "Ron, will you please hand Harry the biscuits?"

"Why can't you?"

"They're practically on your lap."

"Well, he can get his own ruddy biscuits."

"Oh for pity's sake!" Fred cried. He leaned over, roughly picked up the platter of biscuits, and dropped it in front of Harry with a dark look for Ron. "That was bloody difficult, eh? A little bit of exercise never hurt anybody."

"Except for Eloise Midgen. I heard she tried to get in shape once and the effects were disastrous," George said.

"But she _is_ in shape." Fred mimed a circle with his hands. "A very circular shape."

George and Lee snickered, Harry let out a hesitant chuckle, and even Ron looked on the verge of smiling, but Hermione was glaring again.

"Let me guess, you tried out your love potion on her, too? Or wouldn't she have you?"

Fred just grinned. "Touche."

"Oh, look," someone drawled, and the six of them all turned to see Draco Malfoy and his two brawny body guards, Crabbe and Goyle, looming over the table with sneers. "If it isn't the cheat. As if Gryffindor didn't have bad enough name as it was, you just couldn't resist disgracing it a bit more, could you, Potter?"

Hermione focused her attention on the porridge with effort, muttering to Harry, "Please, just ignore him, Harry. He's not worth the trouble."

Though Harry glared daggers at Draco, he said nothing. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd better not be thinking along the same lines as Draco, or Hermione would personally turn him over her knee and thump him like the child he was being.

"I think you've confused Gryffindor and Slytherin, my ferrety friend," George replied. "Our only bad reputation comes from being at the same school as you little-" George gave the Slytherins a name that made Hermione squeak and say, "_George_!" in a voice not unlike Mrs. Weasley's.

Draco paused, looking stumped for a foul enough response before his eyes settled on the back of Hermione's head. He brightened. "At least we don't put up with mudbloods in Slytherin."

Hermione grabbed Ron's sleeve as he growlingly leaned forward. He wasn't the only one looking ready to do violence. In fact, all her friends looked as though they'd like nothing more than to fold Draco into a closet with a boggart. She couldn't help but feel just a little pleased.

"You kiss your mother with that filthy mouth of yours, Malfoy?" Fred spat despite Hermione's quiet noise of protest. "I guess she's foul enough on her own not to mind."

That landed an offended blow on Draco's face. He snarled, and Crabbe and Goyle stupidly stopped snickering a moment later, after glancing at Draco, then at each other. "How dare you talk about my mother like that!" Draco seethed, red-faced. "At least _my_ mother acts like the pureblood she is and doesn't go tramping around like some sort of underprivileged muggle. Tell me, did she have to sleep with the whole ministry to get your dad that pathetic job of his? She must have, I don't expect she would have had anything else to bribe them with."

Ron's fork was now shaking in his white fist, as though he wanted to stab Malfoy with it, Harry's glasses were fogging up, and Fred and George were both reaching inside their robes, not listening to a word Hermione was saying as she whispered, "Fred! George! Don't! He'll only-"

"I wouldn't if I were you, Weasley," Draco hissed, eying Fred and George uneasily. "Bet your mummy wouldn't like it if I sent you home with a few broken bones to match everything else your lot owns that's broken, which is probably everything, now that I think on it." Looking pleased with himself, he nodded for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him back to their table, where Krum had just sat down and was looking particularly sullen.

"Fred, you can't!" Hermione whispered fiercely as Fred dug in his robes more furiously. Fred spared her a second's smile before drawing out…not his wand…but two little custard creams. Jumping to his feet, he chucked the custard creams at Malfoy, and one after the other, the little sweets bounced off the back of his white-blond head.

"You'll pay for that!" Draco threatened as he swung around, rubbing the back of his head as if the puffy little creams had actually hurt him. With his free hand, he dug out his wand and pointed it, and George, Lee, Harry, and Ron all leapt to their feet, shouting - until a loud _pop _interupted them.

Crabbe and Goyle, to no one's real surprise, had both been hungry enough to greedily pluck up the custard creams from the ground after they'd ricocheted off of their leader's head. They hadn't known that the sweets weren't custard creams at all, but Canary Creams, a product in Fred and George's star line-up of joke shop products. Now two very fat little canaries were fluttering around Malfoy's head. The Great Hall erupted in laughter as after a second, the two thick bodies of Crabbe and Goyle appeared sitting on the floor, still covered in molting feathers and looking as stupid as a rock.

"Think that was funny, do you? You wait until….I…."

Fred and George had circled around the table, and Malfoy was looking back and forth between them uncertainly, maybe just noticing their height. He looked over his shoulder anxiously as the feathery shapes of Crabbe and Goyle stood with difficulty and came to join him.

"Fred, George," Hermione tried yet again, tugging on Fred's jumper. "Please don't-"

"What, scared for your friends, mudblood?" Malfoy taunted, brave now that he had his gigantic sidekicks back again. "I bet you and their pathetic parents are real pals, aren't you? I bet you even exchange notes. You tell them how they can live like pathetic, rundown, muggles, and they show you how to be a disgraceful-"

Fred's shoulder rammed into Draco's jaw as he tackled him to the floor. Lee, Harry, and Ron all clamored to their feet to help as Crabbe and Goyle dove on Fred, and George in turn dove on them. Curses and grunts could be heard from outside the hall, and anyone listening could catch short phrases like,

"Take this home to your da for me, Malfoy!"

"Get off, you ugly brute!"

"You wait till my father- ouch!"

"Arrrrrggg!" (That was Crabbe.)

"_STOP_! Please!" Hermione cried over the noise. It looked to be a fairly even fight, as Harry and Ron made up the size of about one Goyle, and together Lee and George were about as thick as Crabbe. Hermione backed up as a flailing foot nearly caught her leg, and she stood up on her seat to overlook the fight. All around, students from the great hall were circling the mass of flailing limbs, chanting, cheering, or hissing. Goyle's large rump knocked into the legs of her chair, which rocked , and Hermione toppled onto the pile of bodies with a shriek, reaching for her wand as she fell.

Initially, it was like being on a very bumpy train ride, Hermione mused as the eight bodies turned and jerked beneath her. That was before she was sucked down into the brawl by her ankle, her hands over her face. Her hand found her wand and she raised it to end the entire mess, but just then Harry's foot hit her elbow, and the wand went flying from the mass of tangled bodies and into the crowd around them. Hermione rolled over, trying to crawl on her stomach out from underneath the chaos, and looked up into a pair of confused and alarmed gray eyes, one of which was blackening.

"Her- ouch, bloody hell," Fred cursed, wrestled some more, and then finished, "mione, what are you doing down here?" before being silenced by a kick to the gut. Hermione would have answered if two firm hands hadn't latched onto her ankle and drag her from the tangle. Worried that it was Pansy Parkinson come to join the brawl, Hermione stood up and swung with her fists up to face Viktor Krum.

"Oh…what did you do that for?" Hermione asked, flustered and red-faced, cringing at Ron's language as he shouted something from the floor.

"I vas vorried you vere 'urt," Krum said quietly, extending her wand on a callused hand. Hermione took the wand with a small, embarassed, "Thank you," and he nodded before disappearing again into the crowd, looking almost...let down?

The fight finally dissolved, though not before the damage had been done. Harry, Ron, and George were getting to their feet shakily, rubbing sore spots or in Ron's case, daubing a bloody nose, but Fred and Lee were a bit slower to rise. Hermione only got one satisfying glimpse of Draco's black and blue face before he set off at a scampering run for the Slytherin common room, Crabbe and Goyle stumbling after him, the latter holding his bottom.

"You shouldn't have done that," Hermione scolded lightly as the boys rejoined her, congradulating each other. She eyed Fred as he smiled at her with a boyish, charming smile that she wasn't sure was entirely all there. There was a roughly Goyle's fist-sized red spot on his forehead. "But thank you." For some reason, she said it to Fred; his grin stretched wider, and she quickly looked away. She felt...jittery.

"Hey," Ron whispered, leaning toward her. "I saw you talking to Krum! Did he see the fight?"

"I'm sure he did," she said dryly. "It was kind of hard to miss, after all. George, maybe you should take Fred to the hospital wing. He looks a little peaky."

Fred blinked at her and George as they stared at him. "What? I'm not being sneaky. Not right now."

"I think you're right, Hermione," George mused, smirking crookedly at his dazed twin. "Maybe you should come too."

"What? Why?"

He looked at her, cringing a little, then glanced at Harry and Ron as if for help. Harry, fighting a smile, pointed to her cheek. "You've got a...it's kind of a...it's not all that big..."

Raising a hand, Hermione touched her cheek and almost yelped. She was growing a bump the size of a small quidditch ball, and it stung at her touch, making her eyes water. When had she gotten thumped in the face? Better yet, had the bump already been this big when Krum spoke to her? Not that that mattered. Without meaning to, she looked out over The Great Hall, roving to find him, just out of curiosity. Why had he, of all people, rushed in to help _her_?

In the hospital wing, Hermione and Fred sat on neighboring beds, waiting for their bruises to fade under the ointment Madame Pomfrey had rubbed tskingly into their skin. George had disappeared a moment ago, with a grin and a whispered word about bringing Fred up something nice from the house-elves, which made Hermione scowl.

Fred shifted on his bed, flopping backwards as if his head were too heavy to support. "This bloody stuff itches," he complained, reaching for the patch of goo on his head. Hermione leaned over and pushed his hand down firmly, wondering at why her arms broke out in goosebumps when their hands touched.

"I really wanted to thank you. You didn't have to stand up for me, you know. Not that I entirely approve."

Fred raised an eyebrow as he came up to his elbows to survey her, smirking. "Who said I was standing up for you, Granger? He made fun of my mum, didn't he?"

"Right. Well." Suddenly, she exclaimed, "Will you please stop smiling at me like that?"

Blinking, Fred said, "I'm not smiling at you _like that_."

"Yes, you are! I think I would know!"

"I think I would know, too. It's my smile."

"Well...just...just keep it to yourself, won't you?"

With obvious effort, Fred straightened out his lips, trying to look innocent. Hermione couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at him. No matter what he said, he _had_ been smiling at her differently, this last day, and she didn't like it. He'd never given her any special attention before - she was just Ron's friend, that was all - and now, all the sudden, he was treating her like a girl. It was disconcerting. He'd probably be happy to know that it made her _feel_ like a girl...giddy...bashful...illogical...

For Fred's part, it wasn't really all that complicated. Sure, he found himself wondering if Hermione would go to Hogsmeade with him if he asked, sure, he kept thinking that she was easily one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts...but he just figured that was because he'd hit his head harder than he thought.

* * *

"What better way to make a few galleons?" Fred asked as he closed the savings box with a snap. He and George were the last two left in the common room the night before the first Triwizard task, going over their most recent endeavor to make enough money to open their joke shop after their seventh year.

"Brilliant, my dear brother. You never cease to amaze me," George congradulated, and Fred took a deep bow. "So how should we go about keeping a percentage of the bets?"

"Ten percent."

"Only ten?"

"Well, we'll say ten and-"

"Keep twenty. Bless them, they won't even know the difference."

"Exactly."

Footsteps on the stairwell of the girls' dormitories caused them to look up, wondering who else could be awake at (Fred checked the clock on the wall) two o'clock in the morning. A messy, red head peeked around the stairwell corner, and Ginny stifled a large yawn as she squinted irritably at them.

"Whayoudoin?" she slurred, swaying on the spot. Taking their comotose little sister as their cue to call it a night, the twins rose and packed their things. As George gently started leading Ginny back toward the stairwell, she snapped, suddenly perfectly articulate, "Well if you weren't being so bloody loud…"

Just as Fred's foot came down on the second stair leading up to his bed, he heard Ginny mumble, "'Lo, Hermione." He paused mid-step and turned to see if his sister was hallucinating, or if Hermione really was awake at this unholy hour. There she was, bright-eyed and bushy haired, sitting down in a tall armchair before the glowing hearth.

"I'll be up in a minute," Fred whispered to George, who eyed him curiously, but shrugged and continued up alone. For a minute, Fred hung in the stairwell, chewing the inside of his cheek, and watched as Hermione tightened the belt of her yellow house robe and pushed her curly hair over her shoulder. Odd. His head trauma had faded, and he was still feeling that kick in his gut, looking at her sitting there all pretty and quiet.

"You look very fetching, Granger," he complimented, and Hermione jumped, peering over at him. "Those slippers are quite daring."

Hermione wiggled her toes in her poofy white slippers, which had been a gift from her mum. "What are you up to, Fred? I've been hearing you and George for ages now."

Fred hesitated over a lie. He couldn't afford (literally) to have the noble Ms. Granger bring McGonnagal down on his and George's plan. Instead of answering, he came and stood beside her chair, warming his long hands over the fire. "Riddle me this, Hermione. What's a good student such as yourself doing up in the middle of the night, sitting alone in the dark?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, eyes fixed on the flickering fire. "Fred. Do you think I'm…stuffy?"

"Stuffy?"

"Yes," Hermione replied curtly, coloring at the smile in his voice.

Fred cleared his throat and made himself really think the question through. Hermione was definitely a know-it-all, but those weren't necessarily the same thing. He recalled running into the Grangers in Diagon Alley last year, remembered how Mrs. Weasley couldn't stop raving about how gracious and sweet-hearted Hermione was, and how wonderful a job they had done in raising her as muggles.

"Please say something," Hermione begged, slumping in her seat. "You're making me nervous."

"Why would you think that?"

"I am, aren't I?" Hermione said shrilly. She dug her hands into her bushy brown hair as though trying to reach in and massage a headache.

With a smile, Fred reached over, took her hands, and replaced them at her sides, forcing himself to ignore the soaring exhileration in his stomach. He had inkling about that feeling, now, and it didn't bode well at all for him.

"Granger," Fred paused, checked himself, and began again, "_Hermione_, don't be a prat." Hermione's eyes widened, and she gaped up at him, offended until he said, "Anyone who knows you knows you're one of the most fanciable girls at the school, and fanciable girls aren't stuffy. It's as simple as that."

"You…you think I'm…fanciable?" Hermione repeated, wishing she could hide her face in her house robe as he added a reassuring wink to his words. She'd always rolled her eyes at that wink, which tended to rope girls in as well as a summoning charm. Now, to her horror, that wink made her think things about Fred that she wouldn't even whisper to Crookshanks, for fear of someone hearing. He was being cute. There, she said it. Fred Weasley was cute.

"Sure." Fred grinned, picking at the sleeve of her robe. "How could you not be, in this…er…lovely…accessory?"

Swatting down his arm with a quiet laugh, Hermione stood, then quickly backed up, too close to Fred for comfort. She opened her mouth, meaning to thank him yet again (it felt like all she'd been doing for the last day) for making her feel better, when footsteps made her stop and look up.

From the stairwell, Ginny threw down her arms and cried, "Why is everyone being so bloody loud?"


	3. What the House Elves Saw

"Dragons!"

"Can you believe it?"

"Fleur is doomed, I can tell already."

"Do you think we're in danger? I mean, sitting so close and everything?"

The rumors were flying as the students hurried towards the makeshift stadium on the grounds. The judges had done alright keeping the details of the first task secret. Up till now. The roars and spouts of fire on the horizon were, to say the least, telling. What was more, they were making Fred and George's gambling ring _very_ lucrative. Fred's pockets were jingling with coin as he and George walked up and down the path to the stadium, bellowing out the odds against Krum, or Fleur, and especially against Cedric. Harry, they didn't mention. The poor bloke was getting enough ear from the rest of the school to not need anything from them.

"Sort of makes you tearful, doesn't it?" George mused, twinkling eyes watching the students crowding into the stadium.

"Puts a lump right here," Fred tapped his throat as he accepted knuts from a nervous second year with his free hand. "Two on Krum? Right. There." Brandishing his wand, he produced a personalized receipt for her, then shooed her impatiently on her way. As he opened his mouth, ready to start shouting again, he spied Hermione creeping towards the back of the peaked champion's tent, probably thinking she was being stealthy. Fred had seen stealthier gimpy house elves. A cluster of Ravenclaws, one or two of which he recognized from...well, that wasn't really important...anyways, they were eying Hermione's back murderously as they clutched their Krum pennants to their chests. If Hermione wasn't careful, she was likely to find herself hexed out of the running for Viktor Krum's affections. Fred snorted.

"Here," he handed the box of their savings to a surprised-looking George, "keep up the holy practice. I'm going to rescue Hermione from certain death and humiliation."

For a second, George said nothing, his eyes twitching back and forth between Hermione and Fred. He opened his mouth, but just then two fourth years wandered up with bags full of sickles, and he shut it again, jerking his chin for his twin to be quick about it.

Hermione, meanwhile, believed she was practically invisible creeping along as she was. Even if she was caught...she just wanted a word with Harry. He had to be so nervous! _Dragons_! Oh, if only him and Ron were on speaking terms. Ron was so much better at cheering Harry up, and lord knows Harry probably needed cheering up right about now. Just as Hermione started reaching for the tent's back flap, a hand snaked around her waist and tugged her backwards so quickly, she grunted. Breathing hard, she twisted around and stared.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione, I'm so disappointed in you."

"Fred! Why did you - oh, nevermind. I don't have time right now. I'm just trying to get in and see Harry."

Fred held his hands up in surrender, but simultaneously nodded pointedly at the small mob of girls sulking by, glaring daggers at Hermione, and some at Fred, too...if less pointy ones. "I only just saved your life, you know. But go on, go on, wish Harry luck while I brave the Krummers for you. If you come back to find me with a wand through my heart, well, just know I died watching your back."

He was standing awefully close, Hermione thought, and almost shook her head. Unnecessarily close. Honestly, what was with Fred lately? Nevermind that. What was with _her?_ This was Fred Weasley. His paying attention to her shouldn't have made her feel so...pleased. True, he was attractive, cute, reasonably popular, and that merited some satisfaction on her part. But he was also Ron's older brother. For goodness' shake, he'd seen her in her muggle pajamas!

"Well?" Fred raised his eyebrows. "Are you just going to stand there staring at my rugged features all day, Granger? I've got business to be about."

Oh yes, business. Hermione shot him a look that told him just what she thought about the nature of that business. Then smiled at him gratefully and leaned her head into the tent, whispering for Harry. As soon as she looked away, Fred deflated with a sigh and barely resisted the urge to jinx himself. Hermione Jean Granger should _not_ be able to make him squirm just by looking at him, not unless there was some serious bad magic going on behind that bushy hair.

After a second, Hermione disappeared into the tent, only to reappear not a minute later, looking decidedly flushed. The stands behind them were nearly full now, so Fred made short time jogging away from the tent and towards the bedlam, his eyes scanning the pressing crowds for his twin. There - George was with Ron and Ginny, a little down the way from Seamus and Neville. Every inch of the way to him was packed with excited students who shot him dangerous looks when he tried to squeeze by them. Hearing a quiet squeak, he twisted and glanced back at Hermione, who was being jostled between two sizable Hufflepuffs who probably hadn't even noticed her. Without thinking, he reached his long arm, caught her hand, and pulled her along behind him, clearing the way with shouts of, "Make a path! We've a sick witch here! She's likely to retch all over you! Quickly now, lest you find yourself wearing vomit!" He heard her laughing; his stomach swooped. It was twice as hard to make Hermione laugh as anyone else, and, he thought as he took a spot beside George and belatedly let go of Hermione's hand, twice as worth it.

* * *

"Go on, Harry, open it!"

"You want me to open it? Who wants me to open it?"

The egg's aweful screeching made Fred and quite a few others cover their ears with a shout. Harry had passed the first task with leading marks and all his appendages, and now had a great big golden, screaming egg to show for it. Well, good for him. At least some good came of the banshee-egg. It brought Ron down from his dormitory so that he and Harry could make ammends. Seated a little bit away, Hermione said something that sounded like, "Boys!" A second later, her eyes twitched and found Fred's...only before he could look away (he _hadn't_ been watching her...really, he hadn't), she raised her eyebrows and jerked her head, asking him to come over. He would've been lying if he'd said he hadn't hurried into the chair next to her a little too readily.

"I'll give you points for the eyebrow raise, but the head jerk needs a little refinement," Fred said as he stretched out beside her.

Hermione grimaced at him, then glanced around quickly. Lavender and Parvati weren't but a few steps away, and Fred could feel Lavender's eyes, ferreting for gossip. "I need your help," Hermione mumbled, barely moving her lips so that Fred had to work to make out her words at all.

"As seems to be the theme of late. What do you need? It better not be against my morals."

"I highly doubt it is," Hermione said dryly, eying him. "I need you to show me how to get into the kitchens."

"Didn't I already tell you how to get in there already for your little spew thing?"

"S.P.E.W!" Hermione corrected, first looking stern, then embarrassed. "And yes, you did…but...I couldn't get it to work." She said that last quickly, as though she hated to admit it.

After some quick thinking, Fred stood and dusted his hands together. He hated to miss the party, but this was a chance to weed out his irksome feelings of late and figure out once and for all whether or not he was (dare he even think it?) infatuated with Hermione. "Well, come on then. I could do with a little field trip."

Hermione, looking nervous, bit down on her bottom lip as she glanced first at Ron and Harry, who were dragging themselves up to their dormitory with weary goodnights for the partiers, then at Lavendar and Parvati, whose attentions were now on Seamus as he did fixed a stolen Slytherin banner to read something just shy of vulgar.

"Wait, Fred," Hermione said, her eyes brightening. "I have an idea. Go up and tell Harry that I need his cloak."

Rolling his eyes, Fred told her, "We don't need the cloak. I've been down to the kitchens after curfew loads of times, Hermione. And I've never been caught."

"That's all very well and good," Hermione replied hotly, "and _you_ don't have to wear the cloak. But I'd rather take the extra precaution. Just in case."

A few moments later, Fred and Hermione were standing in the candle-lit corridor outside the fat lady's painting, holding the invisibility cloak between them. Fred knew Hermione had said he didn't have to wear it, and alright, he didn't. But he'd never had a go at the thing before, and it was an excuse to put his arm around Hermione as he whipped the cloak over his head and shoulders and covered the both of them. This close, he could smell her hair, like lilac.

"I can't believe this," he whispered as the started scooting forward together, which was difficult, given their height difference. "If someone had told me I'd someday be sneaking around after hours with Hermione Granger on my arm-"

"I'm not on your arm," Hermione said in a high voice from the darkness beside him, and he grinned, glad she couldn't see it.

"It's just a saying."

"Of course."

Fred couldn't see her, but he could feel how tense she was, rigid like a board. He wasn't sure what that meant.

Finally, after a near-silent, semi-awkward walk, Fred turned the corner, expecting to face the large painting of a fruitbowl. That was there, but that wasn't all. Hermione let out a great sigh of relief that tickled Fred's ear and started out from under the cloak, not seeing what he had…the top of Filch's untamed head rising over the topmost step in the staircase just to their right.

"Hermione!" Fred hissed, jerking her back under the cloak so that she tripped into him. Filch's eyes widened and he hurried towards the spot that he had seen a hand hovering about before it jerked into darkness once again.

"Come, my pretty, let's see what we've got here," he mumbled to the cat prowling around his ankles.

Fred dared to shuffle backwards, pulling Hermione with him behind the statue of the gargoyle, his back pressed up against it. Hermione's face felt very, very warm against his shoulder, Fred noticed with a grin. Despite the threat of Filch looming not a few feet away, he couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly she fit together with him.

Hermione couldn't decide between panicking and smiling like an absolute loon. She'd never been held like this before, and though the situation was hardly romantic, the closeness of Fred was...unexpectedly nice. Fred's arms were tight around her, and for the time being...she liked them there. He smelled like leather quidditch gear and clean, cold water. Not that she noticed.

Neither Fred nor Hermione noticed when Filch gave up what he thought he'd seen and grumblingly disappeared back down the stairs with Mrs. Filch skulking at his heels, mewing irritably. All Fred knew was that suddenly, he and Hermione were very, very alone, and that she was holding him so tight, it was a wonder he could still breathe at all. Clearing his throat, he raised a hand and pushed the cloak back from over their heads, jumping a little when Hermione's face popped into existence not a few inches from his. All the same...he didn't let go. And neither did she. Bloody hell...what _was_ this?

"So…the kitchens?" Fred asked uncertainly.

"Right. Yes."

But despite her words, she was leaning closer and closer to Fred, so close their noses brushed, so close he realized a second too late what she was waiting for...

So this was it. He fancied Hermione, the golden, follow-every-rule-to-the-letter girl, his brother's best friend and long-standing crush, the girl who he never thought he'd stop seeing as the bushy haired little sister figure who stayed at the Burrow sometimes in the summer and could make a mean muggle omlet. Sometime over the last few months, she'd become something else. He lowered his head, about to kiss her. About to kiss Hermione Granger.

Her lips never came. Blinking, he looked down into Hermione's blushing red face. She'd pulled back. Quickly, he released her and casually backed away, folding up the invisibility cloak for something to do with his hands

"Fred, I'm sorry...I didn't mean...I wasn't...wasn't thinking clearly..."

"That's alright," he said too quickly, too easily. He felt like a total git. "You're not the first girl to be sucked in by my irresistibility. Happens all the time." But not like _that_. Bloody hell! He was pretty sure he'd just gotten rejected by the aforementioned golden, follow-every-rule-to-the-letter, etc. etc. etc girl! "Come on. We're nearly there. Might as well get you into the kitchens and then be on our way."

* * *

It was slavery. The poor, brainwashed elves were slaves, that's all there was too it. They practically threw their little selves at Fred and Hermione's feet, offering up platters of sweets and mugs of butterbeer, so oblivious. The poor things.

Fred took her on a brief tour, since he clearly knew the kitchens as well as the elves themselves. It was nice to feel annoyed at that...nice to feel some other emotion besides that fluttery giddiness that had been upsetting her stomach since the first moment they stepped under the cloak together. She hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings, back there by the statue...or, more likely, made an idiot out of herself. She'd just gotten so caught up in the moment, caught up in the feeling of Fred all around her. But they couldn't pretend that they both hadn't held on for longer than they needed to.

"Have a seat!" Fred waved her in to a small, dome-ceiling sitting room off the kitchen, where there was a large hearth and piles of throw pillows arranged like chairs. Hermione hesitated...she had just wanted him to show her how to get into the kitchens...she really shouldn't be out so late with class tomorrow...and-

She sat cross-legged across from himand hesitantly excepted a mug of butterbeer from a squeaking house elf.

"This is nice," she found herself saying. "Well...except for the injustice of it all. These poor elves." Realizing how boring she sounded, she hid her face in her butterbeer.

Fred's eyes twinkled, as if he could hear her thoughts. A mortifying idea. "I'd never say this in daylight, or where anyone could hear me...or where anyone could _see _me...or if there was a chance it might get back around to-"

"Yes, Fred?" Hermione said testily.

"Alright, don't get your trousers in a twist. I was just going to say that I think it's...nice. That you care about the elves. Don't get me wrong, I think the house elves have it just fine down here. But not many people would care enough to see if that was true for themselves."

He wasn't sure how it happened. One second he had been just sitting there, trying to find a round about way of complimenting her without making it sound like he was doing just that, and the next he was leaning toward her again, leaning toward her despite the fact that the wide-eyed, almost shocked look in her eyes should have scared him away. Whatever had happened up by the statue...even if she _had_ pulled back...there'd been a moment of realness there, when he'd felt sure he wasn't the only one feeling something more. Before Hermione's stubborn mouth could say anything, he caught her chin and kissed her. For three or so long seconds, she just sat still and rigid, staring him right in the eyes; he half thought the only thing that was keeping her from slapping him on the side of the head was that she was still holding her mug of butterbeer. Then, just when he was about to wish himself out of existence...she started kissing him back. Her mug clicked against the floor as she dropped it.

Hermione's heart was stuttering wildly. She kept getting brief, horrifying climpses of the future...Ron staring at her like she'd grown a second head...Mrs. Weasley looking disapproving...Harry and Ginny shaking their heads confusedly...

What did this mean? It couldn't be just a kiss. The kiss was nice, but the feeling in her stomach, like she was free falling from a great height was something more. Fred must fancy her. She must fancy him. When had that happened? How had she overlooked something so obviously perfect?

After a minute, Fred broke off the kiss, and she opened her eyes. He looked as dazed as she felt.

"That was my first kiss," she whispered in a barely audible voice.

Fred laughed, though not unkindly. "I'd give it an A for Acceptable."

That shouldn't have been able to put her back up so quickly; it showed how lightheaded and out of sorts she was that it did. It shouldn't matter that that was her first kiss...it had felt perfectly worth an E or even an O to her. Well, she'd show him. Fred Weasley would _not_ be getting the evening's final say! An A. Ha!

Fred made a surprised noise as Hermione kissed him again, a kiss that made his head spin. As she leaned into him, he slouched back against the throw pillows, a hand on the small of her back. He couldn't help but grin into the kiss. Well, he'd wanted to get Granger's goat - he just hadn't known that it would look like this when he did. He should tease her about her grades more often. Maybe-

His brain suddenly seemed to catch up to him, and he realized just how deep Hermione's kisses were becoming, just how tightly she was clinging to him. He wasn't a complete idiot. He'd been around the corner enough times to know that excited kisses, plus a low-burning fire, plus all these bloody pillows didn't exactly total up innocent. He'd like to think Hermione's head was clearer than his, but given how her lips were doing all the leading in this adventure, he thought he might actually be the one with a foot in the real world. The world where they were just friends, and Hermione had Ron and Harry, and Fred was just a jokster, and the two of them didn't do things like...this. She would regret this, once she came back down to earth.

"Hermione," Fred's mumbled against her lips.

Hermione's mind was speeding to places it had never been. She loved feeling that for once, she wasn't just Hermione Granger, know-it-all and teacher's pet..."Harry Potter's Friend". Silly as it sounded, she finally had something that was all hers, something she could control. She had this kiss. And she didn't want to let it go. She covered Fred's mouth with hers and kept kissing even as she felt him slipping away from her.

"Enough."

The word made Hermione pause in mid-kiss. Suddenly, she yanked herself backward, leaving Fred lying there, his hair and shirt mussed. The way he was looking at her made her want to wrap herself in the invisibility cloak and never come out again. What had she been thinking, throwing herself at him like that? What would she have felt like tomorrow, if he'd let her keep going? If...if...

"Please don't tell anyone," she whispered, and her voice cracked. She covered her eyes with her hands and shook her head in denial of what she'd done. Snogging after hours in the kitchens, like some kind of...well. Like some kind of Weasley twin.

"Listen...maybe we should..." Fred gestured wordlessly, trying to nonchalantly straighten out his shirt and pat down his hair. "...start over? Like this never happened?"

"I...I don't know if I can do that. Until I sort things out, anyways. This should never have happened, Fred."

Blimey! She said that like it was _his _fault she'd been kissing him senseless!

"Well, sorry to disappoint you," he said flatly. As he stood, she backed away from him...almost like she thought he was trying to start something again right this second. Fred grit his teeth, and with a sour feeling in his stomach, pressed by her and started for the common room. She could get back on her own. She could take the invisibility cloak. Hermione Granger, after all, had everything in control.

would lead him back towards the common room...she could find her own way...she could take the invisibility cloak...Hermione Granger, after all, had everything in control.


	4. Waltzing Right into a Mess of Things

Fred rolled over and stared without really seeing at the lump that was George sleeping on the bed next to his, then looked down at the feet dangling off of the end of Lee's four poster bed. He let them sleep, thinking. Did he regret kissing Hermione? Yes and no at the same time. If he could scroll back last night and do it over, and do it _right_, he felt certain that kissing Hermione was the only thing he could've done. But he could've been more careful not to scare her witless when they both of them got caught up in the moment. Of course the innocent Hermione Granger would be apalled at herself for snogging Fred Weasley in the kitchens after curfew. Of course she'd be ashamed and embarrassed and determined to never look at him with that big-eyed, laughing smile that melted him from the inside out again.

Better Filch had caught them in the first place.

George suddenly gave a great grunt and sat up straight in his bed, his red hair standing on end. "Smorninalready?" he slurred. Looking over at Lee's bed, he gave his head an awakening shake, picked up a pillow, and chucked it. Lee immediately began to kick as if he was under attack, half-falling off his bed.

His eyes darted every which way as he yelped, "Wheresagrindylows?", still half asleep.

"They're attacking George!" Fred exclaimed. "Quick! Save him!"

George gave a strangled curse as Lee gathered himself up and leaped onto his bed, almost tipping the whole thing over as he scrambled after invisible monsters with mutters like, "hang on George, I'm coming," and, "you can't have him, you devils!"

Laughing - and did that ever feel good - Fred kicked off his blankets and dove onto the pile. He hoped for Hermione's sake that she was either having an easier time putting last night out of her head than he was, or that she had as good a distraction as his.

* * *

Hermione woke before dawn, though she wasn't sure she had really been sleeping, and crept down to the library, her hair pulled back in a messy braid. Books. She needed books and cleverness just now. She hadn't counted on wandering back to her usual corner and finding someone else sitting in her favorite armchair with a stack of books up to his knees. With a dull shock in her stomach, she stopped and stared at Victor Krum, who spared her a quick glance before digging his nose back into his thick, black book. At least it was too early for his fan club to be up and stalking. Just then, those girlish giggles probably would have made her combust.

Stalking up and down an aisle of books, Hermione ran her fingers along the bindings of some familiar titles. By happenstance, her finger caught on a worn red book, and she plucked it from the shelf curiously. She stared at the cover of _Amateur Love Potions for the Lovesick Amateur_, and barked a laugh that turned into a half-sob. As she slammed the book violently back into place, she made four more thump to the floor. These books were supposed to be helping, not making things worse!

"Here." She glanced over, surprised but not really displeased, as Krum knelt and scooped up the books, replacing them for her. He looked at her with dark chocolate eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked, and his thick accent sounded unsure.

Hermione nodded brusquely. It wasn't as though he actually cared...he was just making sure she wasn't about to have a fit and bring the whole bookshelf down on him.

"I don't fink you are."

Or was he? Why on earth was a world famous seeker talking to _her_? Couldn't he see her messy hair, her bloodshot eyes, her wrinkled jumper?

"I'm fine, thank you," Hermione said quietly, looking at her feet. She could've at least brushed her hair before leaving the room this morning.

With a nod that was still uncertain, Krum awkwardly backed up to his chair and returned to his stack of books. Before Hermione's glance could lengthen to a stare, she marched away, deciding that fresh air would help her where her faithful books had failed. Strangely, she felt a bit perkier than she had not five minutes ago. She tried to tell herself it was just because she'd let off some steam...not because Viktor Krum had approached her yet again when he had hundreds of much prettier witches nipping at his heels.

* * *

Weeks passed, and with them went Hermione and Fred's friendship. It went like this: Hermione would be in a room. Fred would enter the room. Hermione would leave the room. Rinse, and repeat. Fred was pretty sure he'd grown more accustomed to seeing the back of her head than the front, by now. The whole thing should've had him giving up on Hermione...it made absolutely no sense for it to make him fonder of her. If only she would yell at him again. All he wanted was one good yell, or maybe a mutter about how insufferable he was.

Fall dwindled, winter came. He almost managed to catch her alone once, but then Ron had popped up, asking Hermione for help with his homework, and whisked her away. That night, red ants mysteriously infested Ron's bedsheets. Very curious, that.

George and Lee noticed Fred's frustration, said they knew it was a girl who was plaguing him, and that they knew who said girl was. Unlikely. Fred was sure he would never have heard the end of it if he had mentioned that all this dragging his feet was due to the fact Hermione was angry at him because she'd kissed him. Fred kept turning it over in his mind, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. _She'd_ kissed _him_. Thoroughly, mind.

It was a sunny but cold day not long before the holidays, and Fred was walking down a side corridor, keeping his eyes peeled for George, who had come this way earlier, talking to a pretty Beauxbaton.

"Fred!"

Fred turned, watched Angelina as she jogged toward him with a wide grin.

"McGonnagal's called a mandatory Gryffindor meeting. Seems to be really import- AHH!" Angelina's foot slipped on a patch of ice, and suddenly she was shooting towards him, her dark hair flying every which way as she fought to keep her balance. Laughing, Fred caught her around the middle and dragged her to drier stone. "Oof! Thanks, Fred. Anyways, she says it's really important. And someone said it's good news."

From McGonnagal? Somewhere in the world, pigs must be spreading their wings. He fell in step beside Angelina, following her towards the rumored meeting place. Her face looked pink. Must be from running in the cold. "Good news for who? 'Good news, Gryffindors,'" Fred imitated McGonnagal, his expression prim. "'We've decided to double your amount of homework in a character-building exercise.' They're trying to kill us, they are."

The long classroom was packed with Gryffindors, but was divided down the middle, boys from girls. With a wink for Angelina - she grinned and ducked her head as she hurried away - he joined George back along the windows.

"Hello there, what's this?" George muttered to him, an eyebrow raised. "You and Angelina out for a stroll?"

Fred elbowed him. "Not the kind of stroll you've just come from, no. What was that Beauxbaton's name again? Luis?"

"Loise," George said in a perfect french accent, a grin spreading on his face. "And she could have been named Donald and it wouldn't have made one difference. You know that thing they say about the French?"

"Which thing?"

"It doesn't matter. All of them. They're all true. You don't have any chapstick, do you?"

"You disgust me."

Down on the marble floor, McGonnagal and Filch were fiddling with an outdated phonograph, arguing over how it was worked. Fred glanced at the female half of the room, and started when he met a pair of brown eyes. Hermione quickly looked away, her jaw set determinedly. Fred bit off a sigh. _Hermione Granger, what am I going to do with you_?

The Yule Ball. _A dance._ There was no way that word issued from Minerva McGonnagal thin, stern mouth...and yet Filch was cueing up a waltz and McGonnagal was picking out Ron as her guinea pig, which improved Fred's mood another ten to fifteen percent.

Harry turned around and whispered to him and George, "You're never going to let him forget this, are you?"

"Never," they said in unison.

After a few minutes of instruction, McGonnagal barked at them to take partners and practice, which shut the boys' mouths faster than an airborne dung bomb. The girls leaned forward, anticipating. Even the stubborn Hermione was glancing around part hopefully, part worriedly.

"Time to partner up," Fred cheerfully told George. His twin grunted.

"Sorry, mate, looks like Angelina's already taken," George said, sympathetic as he gestured at Angelina and Dean Thomas. Angelina peered over Dean's shoulder as if expectant. Ah. So _that_ was who Lee and George thought had caught Fred's tongue. Not, er, literally. Well, maybe.

With a grin for his twin, who stared at him confusedly as he took Katie Bell's hand, he hopped down from the bleachers and started toward Hermione without breaking stride. She saw him coming and looked frantically left and right, waiting to be plucked up by someone else, even though she was one of the last girls left seated. Her eyes widened prettily (even if they were horrified) as he stuck his hand in her face. She was trapped.

Wincing, she took his hand. He yanked her to her feet and onto the dance floor so hard, she tripped over her own feet and squeaked. His arms were more than ready to catch her.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked in a whisper.

"Because you're avoiding me. It's really starting to annoy. What gives?" He grunted as she trod on his foot. Going by the satisfied glimmer in her eye, he didn't think it had been an accident.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear before. This," she gestured between the two of them before replacing her hand on his shoulder, "isn't what you seem to think it is. Switch."

"What _I_ seem to think it is?" This time, he stepped on her foot...and even though it had been an accident, played it off as though it hadn't. Hermione let out a yelp, and as she twirled under his arm, pushed away aggressively. "All I said was that I wanted to start over. You're the one who went all Moaning Myrtle and made it into such a brou-haha. And you kissed me, point in fact."

"You kissed me first."

"You kissed me more." Sighing at Hermione's glowering expression, Fred said, "If you want me to ask you to this ball, just say so. Your hints are too subtle."

"What? That's not...I don't...I wouldn't go with you even if I wanted to! Which I don't! Not with you acting like I'm just another flighty third year who you can kiss without making any sort of committment to!" she said in a rush, her face going pink.

Blimey, but she _was_ a know it all. Being enamored with her, he'd kind of forgotten how grating that superior tone of hers was. And going on like that about him being free with his kisses. The girl had no shame. Slightly red in the face himself, Fred whispered fiercely, "You just want to believe that so it's easier for you to hate me and move on!"

"What? How dare you say that! I _saw_ you and Angelina." Fred blinked, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Hermione finished in a small voice, "I saw you two in the corridor just now, her hanging on you and...and giggling..." She trailed off uncertainly as he started smiling and shaking his head. "And what exactly is funny about that, pray tell?" she said coldly, nothing small about her voice now.

"Nothing. Except that I could almost think you were trying so hard to believe that I run around kissing anyone with half a mouth because you feel guilty about having your eye on someone else."

"That's...presposterous."

Fred very nearly tripped at hearing the voice ringing clear in her voice. Well, that explained things, if in the most excruciating way possible. She had been trying to let him down easy. Of course Hermione would avoid him if she was interested in someone else. Who? _Please_, Fred sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, _please don't let it be Ron. _

Hermione must have seen something of his thoughts on his face, because her voice was much softer when she said, "Fred, there can't be _anyone_ right now, don't you understand? It's-"

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, if you will," Professor McGonnagal's voice cut their dance short. They stopped, realizing they were the last pair to finish out their waltz. As soon as Fred released Hermione's hand, she hurried over to Ron and Harry, tucking her hair behind her ears. Fred stared blankly at her back. No amount of humiliation on Ron's part could improve his day now...not after Hermione had dropped him like a hot cauldron.

* * *

As Hermione walked briskly toward the library, she unthinkingly rubbed her fingers over her hand, remembering the feeling of Fred's callused beater's hand holding hers. She felt scrambled, like someone had done a shuffling charm to her brain. Fred hadn't denied what Hermione had seen between him and Angelina in the hallway; he'd just turned it around on her, flustering her. Of course she didn't fancy someone else...did he really think she was one of those girls who bounced from love interest to love interest? Fred had been her first kiss, for goodness sake. And she...well, she...

If she was perfectly honest with herself, she still fancied Fred too much for that. Him and his irritatingly knowing, sideways smile and his stupid jokes and the way he could cheer her up without even meaning to. Fred. Weasley. Ugh, and she'd thought last year had been complicated...with Harry seeing the grim every where and a supposed murderer on the loose...

When she returned to the library and found her spot taken by Krum yet again, his crooked nose dug deep in his book, she very nearly threw down her bag. Boys! They ruined everything! Pulling out her charms homework and settling down reluctantly in the chair across from him, she set to work on forgetting her dance with Fred this morning, which proved difficult, given the fact that she _liked_ remembering dancing with Fred this morning. And he'd hinted at wanting to go to The Yule Ball with her. Oh, if only that was possible. But until her turbulent emotions were back in order, until she was fully _Hermione_ again...it really would be better for Fred if he took someone else. The thought of him holding someone else's hand as tightly as he held hers stung.

"My name iz Viktor."

Hermione practically jumped of her chair at the the sound of Krum's deep voice.

"I know," she said, glancing at him over her parchment. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Er...money..."

"_Hermione_."

"Er-mee-ow-nee."

Smiling, Hermione said shyly, "Don't worry about it. It's a silly name at the best of times."

"I do not fink so," Krum said, equally shy, his finger marking his place in his book as he set it down in his lap. "I haff been watching you. You come here often."

"Yes. I like to read."

"I can tell." Krum sounded amused, and smiled at her. The smile lessened the hard lines of his face, made him look much more approachable. "Do you know off this Yule Ball?"

"Y...yes?" He couldn't possibly be building up to do what she thought, could he? Not Viktor Krum. Hermione was surprised to feel her heart drumming rather hard against her chest, loud in her ears.

"I vould escort you, if it would please you."

First she'd snuck off and snogged Fred Weasley in the kitchens. Now she was making Viktor Krum blush. What was happening to the world? It was if one day the sun rose and everything decided to turn upside-down on her! She half-expected Ron to get thrown into the mix tomorrow!

At first, she considered saying no, telling him she wasn't planning on going. Then she thought about what Fred had said to her, in that moment of anger when she thought she might've gone to far. If the best thing for Fred was for her to get over him, let go of that one stolen kiss in the kitchens...this may very well be the best way for her to do that. It might hurt the both of them - but only for as long as took for them to move on and realize that _this_ wasn't plausible. Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger. A hypogriff and a mermaid might have a better chance at making it work.

"I...I would love to go with you, Viktor."

The name felt odd on her tongue, but it lit Krum's face, made it softer still, even handsome. They set a time for meeting at The Yule Ball and planned on finding each other at the library a few days before, to talk some more and get to know each other, so that they wouldn't be waltzing with complete strangers at ball. Hermione was amazed at how quickly he opened up, and how good they got on once he did. He always looked so grumpy, stalking around the grounds with his herd of followers...she'd never imagined that they had the same favorite book growing up, or that they both enjoyed swimming, or that his laugh was so contagious. She found herself thinking that she might just enjoy herself at the ball after all. The point of the Triwizard Tournament, after all, was international wizard cooperation.

* * *

Two more weeks, come and gone. Fred got used to only ever seeing Hermione at a glance down the table in the great hall, talking with Ron and Harry, or in passing in the common room. He guiltlessly tried eavesdropping on Lavender and Parvati, the proverbial gossip headquarters of Hogwarts, but all they ever talked about was Krum, who Fred didn't give a sickle about. At least with Christmas looming, the season was ripe for pranks. Professors weren't nearly so hard on you if they caught you coming up on Christmas.

It came to Fred as he hung a strand of popcorn on the common room true covered in itch wart that girls, even the exceptional Hermione Granger, were jealous beasts at best. He began hatching a plan to make her crazy out of her mind. Oh, maybe she fancied someone else...or maybe, just maybe, a good healthy dose of payback might shake her into remembering the good parts of that night in the kitchen, instead of just the bad.

He waited patiently for a chance to unfold his masterful plan, until one study session day, he and George got placed between Hermione, Ron, and Harry, and Angelina, Katie, and Alicia.

Ron looked up as Fred passed him a scribbled note: "Get a move on or all the good ones will be gone". Ron scowled uncertainly. It was common knowledge that neither he nor Harry had been successful in the date department.

"Who are you going with?" Ron hissed, eying the pacing Professor Snape out of the corner of his eye. Hermione paused with her hand on her quill, listening, if Fred didn't know any better.

Angelina was sitting a little down the way, looking studious, though Fred thought she was listening in as well. He wadded up the piece of parchment and chucked it so that it bounced of her head. When she looked up, mildly annoyed, hemouthed, "you, come to the ball, with me" and motioned it out, just to be clear, as George snickered beside him.

"Me, go to the ball, with you?" she repeated. He took her smile as a yes.

With a grin, Fred turned to Ron and gave a satisfied wink, then glanced at Hermione. Her quill had resumed writing, but she was staring hard at her parchment. He waited for her to meet his eyes, and waited, and waited. She wouldn't give him even that. Jealous, or just...furious?

He grunted as George elbowed him hard in the ribs. His twin was wearing an "I knew it" expression, eying Katie, Alicia, and Angelina out of the corner of his eye. Fred eyed them uneasily, grin fading. They were awefully giggly. They knew Fred had meant, "you, go to the ball, with me...as friends", right? Meeting Angelina's smoky eyes...he suddenly doubted that.

His ear suddenly caught Hermione's voice (his stomach did that annoying fluttery thing) and looked over at her innocently. It seemed Good Old Ronald had stuck his foot in his mouth this time...but strangely, Fred thought all the heat in Hermione's voice was actually directed at him. Her eyes flickered to his for just an instant before she finished upbraiding Ron in a voice like acid.

"It may interest _you_ to know," Fred winced, "That someone's already asked me. And I said yes!"

Fred couldn't recall the last time one of his genius plans had backfired so magnificently.


	5. No one Looks That Cute with Antlers

"So Angelina's wearing white and maroon and I figured you should know so you didn't...well, you know, wear light blue or something, because that would just look dreadful."

"Well, all I've got is scarlet...you know...Gryffindor colors and all. Why would I wear light blue, anyways?"

"It's just a scenerio, Fred. Now, how are you doing your hair?"

"I have to do my hair? Cripes, what am I supposed to do to it? _Curl_ it?"

"Don't be thick. Just put some of this in it...it'd look fetching swooped to the side, I think. Here, let me show you."

"Geroff!" Fred swatted away Katie's hands as she leaned over with a bottle of ominous-looking hair serum.

Katie and Alicia had been pestering him nonstop about looking all spiffy and nonsense for the upcoming Yule Ball, insisting that he try something they had been calling "accessorizing". Lee said that such a thing sounded unnessisarilly painful, and Fred couldn't help but agree and think to himself that Hermione wouldn't have cared whether his dress robes matched his eyes or not. He couldn't wait for George to return from nipping snacks from the kitchen, so that the girls could turn their fashion senses on him as Katie's date.

"What do you think I am, a bloody poodle? Back off, the both of you!" He gave a dangerous twiddle of his wand.

It was Christmas Eve, and despite the fact that George kept trying to summon mistletoe whenever Fred and Angelina were together, Fred was in relatively high spirits. He'd heard through the Lavendar-Parvati train that he wasn't the only Weasley in a tight spot with Hermione. Apparently her and Ron had been on rocks since he'd said she was lying about having a date to The Yule Ball. And then Angelina left to spend Christmas Eve with her parents in Hogsmeade, so the mistletoe thing even stopped.

Come the hour of day Fred usually got his one glimpse of Hermione between classes, he went down to the courtyard, strolling aimlessly, hoping to catch her. He wasn't sure what to apologize for at this point - the whole thing had become such a bloody mess - but he was nearly ready to apologize for everything, so long as she'd just look at him rather than through him. _You're bloody pathetic!_ he told himself with a groan as he scuffed his trainer against the hard marble floor. He turned around, about to call it quits, and staggered as someone leaped onto his back with an orerny laugh that could only be called Weasley.

"Snowball fight in the courtyard, Fred?" Ginny invited despite the fact Fred was trying to wrest her off his back. "We have an odd number of players. Ron, who's ruddy aweful and shouldn't really count, Harry, me, George, Lee, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Katie, Alicia, and Hermione."

She had him at Hermione. Which was to say he didn't decide on going until the very end of Ginny's invitation.

"So long as I'm captain," Fred bargained as he carried Ginny off through the courtyard. She sighed and poked him.

"Fine. But if you pick me, have the decency _not_ to pick Ron."

* * *

He actually looked quite adorable in that knitted Mrs. Weasley scarf, at least, Hermione thought so. As the Ginny-laden Fred trudged through the knee-deep snow in the courtyard, he grinned in the general direction of the whole assembled crowd, but Hermione went pink as though the smile had been just for her. _Stop, stop, stop_! She whined at herself, quickly looking down at her feet. She was going to the ball with Viktor. He was going with Angelina. And that was that.

"Captain?" Fred said to George at the same time George said it to Fred. They nodded in sync and turned to survey the pickings, and despite herself, Hermione went up to tiptoe, straining to be noticed.

"Lee," George picked, and Fred scowled. Lee had a wicked throwing arm; last year, a snowball from his hand had broken Fred's nose in two places. Fred had had to stay overnight in the hospital wing. Still frowning, he glanced over the group: Neville, nervous and awkward, Dean and Seamus, who were busy already stuffing snow in each other's faces, Harry and Ron, who both looked expectant, and the girls, who were trying to look nonchalant but clearly wanted to be picked. Especially Hermione, unless Fred's eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Ginny." His little sister grinned, tossing her red hair as she joined him in line.

"Harry."

"Alicia."

"Katie."

"Dean."

"Seamus."

"Oh, _comon'_!" Ron furiously wretched his scarlet earmuffs from his head and thrashed them to the ground. "I'm your bloody brother - you picked _Ginny_ first, Fred!"

"Watch your language!" Hermione hissed, irritable. Why hadn't Fred picked her yet? She didn't have bad aim or a poor throw, and she was good at strategizing formations. Maybe he really was with Angelina, and just didn't want to feel guilty about picking Hermione when his girlfriend wasn't around.

Clearly hesitating, Fred finally said, "Hermione, I guess."

Willing herself not to fight fire with fire, Hermione calmly took her place between him and Ginny and murmured, "Good choice."

Fred smirked without looking at her. "We'll see, Granger."

A little white later, after George had grudgingly let Ron talk him into letting him on his team, the two teams split for either ends of the Hogwart's front grounds and each formed a huddle to discuss their strategies. Fred glanced around at his partners: Ginny, Alicia, Dean, Neville,and Hermione. He leaned in close, his breath a soft plume before his face.

"Right. Neville, Hermione, and Dean, you take the defensive and make sure the fort," he waved atthe fountain in the courtyard behind them, "holds safe, since that's where we'll keep our artillerary. I want a constant supply of snowballs. Lee and George will think it's funny to pound us with our own stock. That means that Ginny, Alicia, and me will be the offensive. Ginny, you're the sneakiest...just facts, little sister, just facts...so you go around the long way while Alicia and I hit them head on. Good?"

"No good," Alicia argued. "Fred, you know I'm the best and fastest snowball-maker you've got. No offense, Hermione," (Hermione mumbled, "none taken, yet") "-but I'm better suited for your job."

"Fine. Hermione's with me and Ginny then. Let the games begin. Godspeed, all of you."

Fred nodded seriously to Neville, Alicia, and Dean, who immediately began to roll snow into small, compacted balls with flicks of their wands. Ginny and Hermione started tightening their mittens and pulling back their hair as if they really were going out to war.

"Don't be late, I can't take the fort on my own!" Ginny hissed as she disappeared behind the hedges, already prowling.

For a second, Fred and Hermione just stood there, hardly looking at each other.

"You do know this is the most dangerous job, don't you?" Fred finally said, only partway teasing as he started creeping forward, wand out, readying snowballs.

"Don't worry," Hermione's snowballs were perfect circles, neat and clean, "I'll make sure they don't bloody you up too bad."

Even when she insulted him, she still could make him smile. The girl had a rare gift.

More than once, as Fred and Hermione tiptoed forward, taking care not to crunch snow, Lee's head had popped over the trim of bushes beside the frozen lake and then ducked down again after seeing they were still out of range. Hermione nearly threw her first snowball at a bird that erupted out of a barren bush; Fred had to catch her arm and cover her scream with his free hand simultaneously. Then he himself started laughing so hard he almost compromised their position.

"Captain," Hermione said through her muffled giggles, giving his scarf a hard tug. "You have to-"

"DUCK!" Fred suddenly bellowed and shoved her onto her back in the snow, where she lay sprawled like a snowangel. She raised her chin just enough to see Fred dramatically out of the way of two well-aimed snowballs. Harry and Lee were emerging from behind the statue of Hogwart's first headmaster, and there was little time for Hermione to do anything but roll into the hedge of bushes, taking cover as two more snowballs exploded where she'd laid not a second ago.

"Fred!" she cried as he scrambled to grab up the snowballs he'd dropped in his wild dive. He'd never recover in time! He was wide open! With a crazed cry, Hermione leaped out of the bushes with her single snowball and let it fly, aiming for Harry, trusting it would hit home, hoping it would paralyze Harry long enough for Fred to get out of range...

PLOP. The snowball fell short by several feet. Harry and Lee turned to look at her. She barely time to let out a strangled yelp before something struck her dead in the forehead, laying her out flat on her back, as stiff as a board. Little lights were crowding the backs of her eyelids.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Harry, Lee, and Fred were hovering over her, looking decidedly alarmed. Groaning, Hermione tried to sit up, but Fred and Harry knelt together and stopped her.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Lee said...strangely, looking like he was trying not to smile. "I packed that for Fred, I wasn't thinking when I tossed it at you..."

Hermione bit down on her trembling bottom lip, more afraid to know what the damage was than in actual pain. For the first time, she realized there was blood on her mittens.

"I'll get Madame Pomfrey," Harry said, jumping to his feet. He tore toward the castle, and after a second, Lee went after him, as if the job really took two. Hermione looked at Fred so quickly, her pounding head spun.

"Is it...is it that bad?" she asked, almost not wanting to know.

Instead of answering, though he did at least chuckle, Fred unwound his gray scarf, wadded it up, and gently pressed it to her forehead. "I think Lee nicked one of Angelina's jinxed snowballs," he said much too lightly. "You're growing antlers."

"WHAT?" Hermione squeaked, knocked Fred's hands away and feeling her head for herself. Sure enough...two little branched knots were nudging out of her snow-slick hair. All she could do was let her face sink into her hands and try not to let Fred see her cry.

"Don't worry," Fred said, prizing her hands away from her face. No one should manage to look this cute with antlers. Least of all Hermione Granger. "They're not actually all that bad. They're nice and fuzzy, sort of reindeer like. It's endearing."

Hermione's sniff turned into a laugh before she could stop it. What if Madame Pomfrey couldn't remove the antlers before the ball? Would Viktor leave her at the door? No...he wouldn't. Viktor wasn't like that. But he wasn't like Fred, either, who probably would've just given himself a pair to match.

"You certainly have odd tastes," Hermione sighed, drying her cheeks on the back of her wrist.

Fred was quiet for a moment. "I don't think so."

* * *

The rest of Christmas Eve, Hermione felt rather like the pre-kiss-accident-Hermione, trying hard not to smile when she saw Fred and George in the distance, blushing when someone mentioned him. For the first time since the waltzing incident, she could think about him without feeling any sort of anxiety. Not that she wasn't still anxious...it just wasn't brought on by Fred.

"Vat did you vant me to vear?" Viktor asked quietly from across their study table in the library, what had become their normal meeting place.

"I told you," Hermione said kindly, smiling at him. "It doesn't matter to me. You could wear a toga and I wouldn't mind." There was a heavy pause that made her realize he didn't know what a toga was, and she rushed on to cover up the awkward quiet. "What does your family normally do for the holidays?"

Krum thoughtfully flipped through the books piled before him. It couldn't have been more painfully obvious that he'd hadn't given much thought to what he'd be reading, so long as he'd be reading them near Hermione. _Creative and Colorful Curses_ might've been an interesting read, but the pink tome titled _Enchanted Diary Keeping for the Eager Writer _seemed slightly out of his character. Or maybe he was secretly an avid journaller, who wrote under his covers at night and hid his diaries between his mattresses. They could be full of doodles of snitches and quaffles. Hermione focused very, very hard on her book, willing herself not to laugh at the picture.

"...ve usually take turnsturning the spit and then great uncle vill pour the vine..." Krum went on in his low, unhurried way of speaking.

Hermione inserted a nod now and again to let him know she was listening even while she was studying him. He really was handsome, especially when he smiled. And he had much more going for him than just his skills at quidditch - he was bright, and funny, when he let himself be. If Viktor had gone to Hogwarts and not Durmstang, he and Fred might even be friends. Maybe, if they were introduced at The Yule Ball, they might even get along well enough for Viktor to let him take Hermione for a dance or too. If Angelina could live that long without her precious "Freddy". Oh yes, Hermione had heard her calling him that in the common room, though never when Fred was actually around.

"Vat is it, Er-moany?" Viktor still hadn't mastered her name yet. "You look troubled."

Shaking herself, Hermione smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Viktor, I'm just getting a bit sleepy." And she had the morning to look forward to. Every Christmas it was the same. As soon as dawn brushed the dormitory windows, Lavender and Pavarti's squeals over their tall pyramids of presents shot her out of bed quicker than an ice cube between her sheets. If she didn't want to go to The Yule Ball looking halfway lucid, she needed to turn in early.

Viktor never walked her all the way to the common room - he had too many fans there for that to be possible - but he did lead her out of the library and down one full corridor before giving a stiff, Bulgarian bow and saying one more time how much he was looking forward to tomorrow. Hermione nodded, blushing and looking around uncomfortably when he kissed the back of her hand, and then said goodnight with all the enthusiasm she could muster. She didn't deserve a date like Viktor, and it was hardly fair for her to feel wistful about how her Christmas Eve evening was spent. She just couldn't help thinking as she wandered aimlessly right past the common room, hardly seeing it, that if she'd spent the night with Fred, she probably would've ended up with another set of antlers, or gone on some unlikely adventure that was blissfully un-Hermione-like.

* * *

"I'm not putting that ungodly polish on my hair, so if you like it so much you can bloody wear it!" Fred shouted for the tenth time.

With a snarl, Angelina slipped the tiny glass bottle of Gilderoy Lockheart's "_Mane Tamer for the Tamed Man_" into her robe. Acorss the room, George and Katie were laughing maniacally into their hands, making Fred flush angrily. Angelina had never been this...this..._girly _before. He had to admit though, seeing her, Alicia, and Katie in dresses rather than their quidditch robes did make them that much prettier. Angelina's scarlet dress was part sleek, part pure poof, and her hair was twisted up in dark curls on top of her head.

"Fred, honestly. You look as though you're ready to go to dinner, not ready to a ball," Angelina said as she jerked long white gloves up over her elbows.

Sighing, Fred meaningfully flicked a strand of red out of his eyes. "I might, _might _wear that stuff if it weren't made by a bloke enrolled at St. Mungo's. And if it smelled better. Oh, and if no one was going to see me. So unless you have some alternative, it looks as though you're stuck with this." He pointed at his head, and cracking a smile, Angelina punched him on the arm.

"Well played, Fred," George said as he joined them, Katie on his arm. His hair was loose as well, though he sounded hoarse from the shouting match he'd had with Katie over it. "And may I just say, you look positively spiffing, my dear man."

"Why, thank you, George." Fred gave a turn, showing off his dress robes, which were identical to George's down to the last button. "I do make it look good, don't I?"

Despite himself, Fred couldn't help but be excited, a feeling that grew as he, George, Lee, and their dates started down to The Great Hall, passing floating candles that glowed a wintry blue and gave the halls the feeling of being underwater. Girls and boys in all sorts of colors and robes, some paired up, others moving in uneasy groups, flocked down the winding Hogwarts stairways to the sound of tinkering music. The Great Hall itself was nigh unrecognizable, decorated to look like a ballroom the likes of which Fred had ever seen (not that he'd ever seen a ballroom to begin with, but...). Soft snow flitted down from the enchanted ceiling. The Durmstrang students were easily picked out from the rest; they were all wearing dark scarlet and furs, and their dress shoes were so shiny, they bounced the candlelight back onto the walls. Fred glanced for a second down at his own shoes, glad Angelina hadn't let him wear his trainers. He felt silly enough in these scuffed brown things that had been Bill's once upon a time. No...that's not what the ball was about.

"Oi, look...it's our _other_ sister!" George said, pointing to Ron, who was standing next to his date, wearing a sour grimace to match his brown, frilly robes.

Fred and Lee laughed, but Fred distractedly. Harry would be with the other champions...so where did that leave Hermione? Her bushy brown head was nowhere to be seen, and he had become increasingly good at picking it out between crowds of people.

"Look, McGonnagal's bringing in the champions!" Alicia shouted to be heard over the orchestra, which was cueing up for the champion's grand entrance.

There was Harry and...was it Patil? And people said he and George were hard to tell apart. Next came Cedric, who was escorting the very-nice-looking Cho Chang, while Fleur danced forward on Roger Davies's arm (Fred and George simultaneously muttered "git" under their breath as he passed). Then there was Viktor Krum in his scarlet and his fur, grinning down at the girl on his arm more than at the cheering crowds.

Fred recognized her before anyone else started looking at each other and asking if that pretty thing could really be Hermione Granger; he felt his face go slack, his mouth drop open. She was wearing a pink dress that made her skin glow, looking like a model straight out of Witch Weekly. So looked so pretty, and so happy on Krum's arm, that Fred's stomach wrenched almost painfully. Even over the sounds of the crowds, he could pick out her laugh as she giggled at herself, embarrassed by all the attention she and Krum were getting.

"Ow! Fred! You're hurting me!" Angelina poked him, and Fred made himself ease up his grip on her arm even as Krum swept Hermione onto the dance floor. He hardly noticed when everyone else started to dance as well. He couldn't stop staring at Hermione with a feeling in his throat like he'd swallowed a bludger.

Clearing her throat pointedly, Angelina took his hand, put it on her waist, and started to lead the dance. Fred moved his feet catatonically, going through the motions without really thinking about them, trodding on Angelina's feet more often than not. How come Viktor Krum, the world famous quidditch player with thousands of witches hankering to be his sweetheart, was dancing with the only witch Fred wanted for his own?

"Fred, are you alright?" Angelina asked, and when Fred looked down at her, he almost sighed with relief to see that she was wearing a face like she would've worn as his teammate, not his date. He mustered a grin and nodded, taking the lead in the waltz and trying to make up for flattening her toes before. The orchestra finished out the introductory waltz, and then The Weird Sisters started to play a fun and wailing tune that would've had him jumping about like all the rest before he saw Krum and Hermione laughing together as they tried to keep up with the fast rhythm of the song.

"Maybe we should get a drink," Angelina suggested with a sigh. Fred opened his mouth to tell her that was alright, feeling guilty, then noticed that the drink table was just behind where Krum and Hermione were doing their ridiculous little hop-and-twirl dance, probably something Bulgarian.

"A drink is just what I need right now." He snatched up her hand and pulled her between dancing couples as she giggled - ugh, the giggles _again_ - heading for Krum and Hermione. A couple away from the others, Fred turned Angelina by her shoulders a said and grabbed her hand, pulling her between couples quickly and heading right for Krum and Hermione.

"Hermione and Viktor Krum...doesn't he look dashing?" Angelina said when Fred stopped them just a couple away from the others.

Fred snorted and muttered, "Yah, and I bet he uses Lockheart's hair products too." Inspiration suddenly struck him like lightning, and Angelina shied back from his grin, wise enough to know that that grin usually meant trouble for all parties involved. "Angelina...what if I could get you a dance with Krum?"

Her eyes glassing over, Angelina raised her hands and patted down her curls, which hadn't budged one inch all night. "You...you couldn't...I mean, wouldn't you mind?"

"Nah. I figure I owe you one...for something along the way I can't quite remember just now...but come on. Just play along. When I ask Granger to dance, you just fill her vacancy. Easy as pie."

Angelina looked like Christmas morning had come all over again, grinning giddily, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Fred smoothly slid into place, suddenly so close behind Krum he could see Hermione's pretty albiet startled eyes staring over Krum's shoulder at him. It only took two taps with Fred's index finger to turn the Bulgarian around, though Krum didn't look best pleased by the interruption.

"Do you mind, mate?" Fred asked, extending a hand to Hermione, who stared at it like it was liable to bite her. It couldn't have been any more apparent that Krum _did_ mind, but the Durmstrang bowed out curteously, and Fred snatched up Hermione's hand while he had the chance. He barely heard Angelina apologizing for "bumping" into Krum before everything vanished in a whirl of blue and Hermione.

"You look like a piece of taffy."

Hermione blinked confusedly. "What?"

Fred grinned and pulled a masterfully goofy step that Hermione stumbled after. "Well, you know...the pink kind. They're my favorite, don't worry."

"Fred Weasley!" Hermione laughed. She desperately hoped he couldn't feel the goosebumps pebbling on her arms from being so near to him. "Couldn't you have just settled for, 'you look like a flower'?"

"I thought about it. But I'm allergic to roses, and they're the only pink flower I could remember right now." They danced for a few moments, Fred never letting go of Hermione's hand, even when it meant they had to abruptly change a dance move to make it work. "Is this starting over, then?" he suddenly said, so quiet, Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. Maybe that had been his plan.

Chewing her bottom lip, Hermione glanced uncertainly at Viktor. He and Angelina were both staring at her and Fred as if wondering when they could bud back in without being too rude. Viktor was probably ready to leap forward and thrash this red-haired hooligan at Hermione's request. They were running out of time.

Looking back up at Fred, Hermione smiled a timid smile. She was glad he'd left his hair the way it was, falling across his eyes. "I...I guess so." She said that, but what she wanted to say was that she never wanted to pretend he didn't exist again.

Grinning victoriously, Fred spun Hermione by her hand, then caught her before she could tip over, an arm around her waist.

"Fred," Hermione hissed, "a little decorum, if you don't mind. Viktor is watching."

That sobered Fred up quickly. He grimaced. "So, you're a couple then?" he asked, tone neutral. As he noticed Krum and Angelina starting their way, he purposefully twirled Hermione in the other direction, stealing a few more steps of time. Hermione grunted something inaudible that sounded like neither a yes nor a no.

"Er-mion-ey."

Bloody hell, but the Bulgarian was fast! The song hadn't even reached its bridge yet! Fred glowered over at Krum as he bowed deeply and then offered his arm to a flustered-looking Hermione as she pushed a loose curl back behind her ear. Well, here was Hermione's chance. She could go with Krum, and he would take the hint and leave her alone, or she could ask to finish the song. That's all Fred wanted, just one song. He turned enough that Krum wouldn't be able to see his face and stared Hermione in the face, asking her to stay with his eyes.

The floor seemed to fall away as Hermione sighed, shook her head just slightly, and took Krum's arm. And then she was gone. Fred hardly noticed when Angelina took his hand, muttering something about how Krum had said less than two words to her.

"I'm going to sit down," he interrupted, deadpan. When Angelina said nothing, he glanced at her, and winced at her hurt expression. Faking a smile, he tossed her arm over her shoulders and added, "Granger can't dance at all...my feet need some bedrest."

With a grin, Angelina nodded and started pulling him by the hand across the dancefloor. Fred stole the chance to peer back over his shoulder just as Krum kissed the back of Hermione's hand and then left her to go get drinks. Hermione, beaming, joined Harry and Ron, the latter of which looked about as glum as Fred felt, probably for the same reasons. He wondered if Krum knew how many Weasleys hated his Bulgarian guts at this moment.

Too late, he realized that he and Angelina weren't going towards a table, but towards a shady corner behind a heavily-decorated Christmas tree. He stopped short of the shadows, and Angelina turned to face him with a look in his eyes that could've sent a grown giant running for his mum. She came toward him, put her hands on his chest to look up at him with a secretive smile.

"Bloody hell!" He had to forcefully clear his throat. Her fingers curled around his collar. "Did Krum hex you or something? You look as though..."

His wor

* * *

Hermione had been busy snarling at Ron - how dare he double guess her intentions for being with Viktor! How dare he suggest Viktor would use her to spy on Harry! The nerve! - until she saw the two of them. She dared to hope for a second it was George with Angelina, but no, Angelina was _Fred's_ date, and she could tell the difference between the twins, even at a distance. She had just been about to tell Ron just what she thought of his irrational jealousy, but the words whithered up in her mouth, now. Spinning on her heel, she turned away from Ron and Harry, as well as Fred and Angelina, and marched after Krum, her hair unravelling from its updo, her face warm. Hadn't Fred just been asking her about starting over? Hadn't he just practically asked Hermione to choose between him and Krum? So was this...revenge? She didn't think he was that petty.

Viktor's back was turned and his hands were busy pouring butterbeer into a set of goblets. Just as he turned, she doged out of his line of vision, hiding in Hagrid and Madame Ma

* * *

The kiss only lasted a second before Fred pulled his head away and peeled Angelina's hands off the front of his coat. Angelina's eyes sprung open, and she stared at him, not understanding.

"Angelina...you're one of my best mates, alright? But I can't...I mean...it's not that I can't, but I'd rather not." Blimey, but it had _never _been this awkward around Angelina before. He should've never asked her to the ball. But how was he supposed to have known she'd see it as _that_ kind of an invitation? "I'm really sorry."

Emotions ran one at a time through Angelina's eyes...confusion, hurt, anger, and then understanding. She stepped back from him, smoothing down the front of her dress over her stomach as though she suddenly felt ill, before she burst out laughing, very nearly scaring Fred out of his dress robes.

"It's Hermione Granger, isn't it?" she asked through her laughter, shaking her head at him.

Fred deflated with relief, nodding weakly. It felt infinitely better, having someone know, even if that someone was the girl who not ten seconds ago been kissing him. Across he ballroom, he spotted Hermione talking with Krum, gesturing apologetically as Krum nodded unhappily. What was going on there?

"Fred, you idiot," Angelina said, following his stare with a smirk. "Why didn't you just ask her to the dance?"

"You know how she gets," Fred said distractedly.

"No, actually, I don't."

"Better for you, then." Looking at Angelina, feeling a welling up of gratitude for her, he grinned. "Dance with me before I go chase after the little know-it-all?"

And they did. The two of them danced wildly enough to clear a large circle on the dance floor, their arms flailing, their legs kicking. It was very nearly the perfect dance, except for the one, crucial element it lacked. Hermione.


	6. Those ColdHearted Weasley Boys

Hermione hadn't expected Viktor to be so understanding about her wanding to leave the ball early because of her fight with Ron and her glimpse of Fred and Angelina...but then again, she hadn't exactly given those reasons. The ball was winding down anyways; there were hardly any couples less on the dance floor, and more were disappearing by the minute, rushing off to the after-party parties in the common rooms, or sneaking into corners together. Hermione wondered if Fred would be at the Gryffindor party, or if he'd be too busy picking up with Angelina where he and Hermione had left off.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione collapsed into an empty table and tried in vain to smooth down the curls that were springing out of place. Not that she had anyone left to impress, not now that Viktor had headed off to the Bulgarian ship, looking let down, and with Fred so busy with Angelina. Hermione drew a shaking breath to try and calm herself. What did Fred mean by saying all those things to her, by practically asking her to be rude to Viktor, and then disappearing with Angelina? Was this revenge? Would he really do that to her, to Angelina? They'd come so close to getting this right. He should've understood that she wouldn't just abandon Viktor when he was her date; she would never have asked him to give Angelina the cold shoulder like that

"Giving up, are you? Where's 'Vicky' gone to?" Ron's voice was hard with sarcasm as he stopped by her table to glower down at her.

Hermione flushed, glaring up at him. The last thing she needed was Ron thrown into this mix of emotions. He'd already made it perfectly clear just what he thought of her friendship...and that's really all it was...with Viktor. "I'm not in the mood, _Ronald._"

"But I suppose you would be if Viktor asked you to."

"What?" Hermione tripped to her feet, scandalized. How...dare...he! All these Weasleys were the same, cold hearted and, well, cold! Hermione leapt to her feet in an ungraceful manner. How could he say such a thing? Couldn't he see she was a wreck? All Weasleys were the same- cold hearted and...and...well...cold! She followed Ron step for step as he started for the door, shaking his head. "What do you have against him?"

Ron said in a tad of a softer voice, "He's using you, Hermione."

Using her? What about all those times in the library, when he'd quietly peered at her over his books, trying to get the courage to ask her to the dance? What about the time with the wand? No boy went through such an elaborate plan just to get close to the friend of his enemy, and besides, Viktor wasn't like that!

"How dare you!" Hermione seethed, marching. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Doubt it," Ron offhandedly said, trying to soundas though he really didn't care, though his eyes revealed differently. "He's way too old."

"What? What, that's what you think?" Hermione's hand prickled, and she clenched it into a fist, lest she be tempted to slap Ron's freckled face. The only thing that stopped her from doing that much was the tiny voice of reason whispering in the back of her head, "_He's only doing it because he's jealous. He's just jealous. He's just jealous_."

"Yeah, that's what I think."

"You know the solution then, don't you?" Hermione's voice quivered as she swung to face him, staring at him through a blur of tears. She wished she wouldn't cry...she hated giving Ron the satisfaction. If Ron had wanted so badly to go with her, he should have asked. If Fred had wanted so badly to go with her, he should have asked. "Next time there's a ball pluck up thecourage and ask me before somebody elsedoes, and not as a last resort!"

Gaping, Reece stammered, trying to deny it, "Well that's completely off the point...Harry!"

Hermione glanced at Harry as he joined them, looking pretty down himself. "Where have you been?" she demanded, and he stared at her. "Never mind! Off to bed, both of you." She just wanted to be alone. She just wanted Ron to leave her alone, and stop staring at her like she'd had a cauldron dropped on her head.

Shooting Ron a "what's her problem?" look, Harry fell in beside him, climbing the stairs. Ron's sour stage whisper carried to Hermione, "They get scary when they get older."

Hermione whirled around, her voice cracking, "Ron, you spoiled everything!" She came near to adding, "You and Fred!" but the sobs building in her throat kept her from getting out even that much. As Harry and Ron disappeared, Hermione gave a loud, despairing hiccup and sunk down to the stairs, peeling off her dress shoes and setting them aside. Tonight wasn't supposed to have gone like this. Maybe it really was all her fault. She _needed_ Ron at times like these, but now he was gone, angry with her because he believed she had feelings for Viktor that weren't really there. For the first time in a long time, Hermione wished she was home with her muggle parents, curled up on the couching watching an old black and white rerun, one of their favorite pastimes. She wished her mum was here to smooth down her hair and tell her everything would be already. Mum didn't understand magic, but she understood men. The much more complicated of the two.

* * *

Groaning, Fred sat down and massaged his ankles, which he thought were swollen to the size of Hagrid's from all the chaotic dancing. He really should've worn his trainers after all. Across The Great Hall, George and Katie were still dancing, George without his dress robe, and with his suspenders let down off his shoulders. Katie had thrown her shoes away a long time ago. Fred's own dress robe was slung over his shoulder, and his bow tie was shoved in his back pocket. He'd given Angelina his blessing to disappear with some Durmstrang student who had made love eyes at her, and despite Angelina batting her eyelashes at him, she went, and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her sense.

Every now and then, when none of the remaining professors were looking, he would shoot tiny green jets out of his wand at the dancers, buckling knees and turning legs to jelly. It was fun for a while, but pranks were never quite the same without George. And they couldn't fully distract him from what kept replaying in his head: the picture of Hermione just after Krum had left her with Harry and Ron, looking flustered and dazed and girly. Wherever she was now, you could take it to the bank that she was having more fun than Fred Weasley.

"Fred Weasley, if you do that one more time," Alicia yelled as she staggered, her legs giving out under the blast from Fred's wand. Lee, who had to catch her, didn't seem nearly as bothered. "I swear-"

"Swearing is a nasty habit, love, I'd kick the habit if I were you," Fred called back with a grin.

Eventually, he grew bored with his good work, and let out a breath that blew his hair back from his face, stood, and started out of The Great Hall. Maybe he's sneak down to the kitchens. His stomach had been too upset earlier to enjoy the feast, and he could really use a-

There she was, huddled over her knees, and crying. For all she'd abandoned her dress shoes and her curls had been let down and her face was smudged, she was still by far the prettiest girl in the room. Of course, the room was nearly empty...there only a few straggling couples here and there, and they were giving Hermione a wide berth before hurrying on their way, giggling. Fred stared at her, hesitating. If Krum had done this, he'd give the fellow a case of boils to keep him from sitting down for a month, and send him quacking besides.

Hesitating, he folded his dress robe over the stairwell banister and crept up to, moving one of her dress shoes aside and taking its place. He dangled his long arms over his knees and waited for her to look up, but she didn't, even though he knew she knew he was there. She sniffled deeply, shoulders trembling.

"Something wrong?" Idiot question. Of course something was wrong. With a slow hand, he wiped a curl behind her ear. "What happened, Hermione? Is it Krum? Please tell me it's Krum."

Hermione leaned up so quickly, he almost dived aside, half sure she was going to turn her wand on him. Even though there were still tracks of tears on her cheeks, she sat up straight and stared him in the eye. "No, Fred, it's not _Krum_. How could you do that? How could you talk to me about starting over and then slink away only to-to-" Her face crumpled, and she bowed it into her knees again, hiding it. "-to kiss Angelina right in front of me."

Fred's mouth almost fell to the floor. Blimey, she was being serious! She really thought him and Angelina...but, well, if she'd seen the kiss...no, even then! She should know better...hadn't he made himself perfectly clear, before? What did a guy have to do to make a point, around here? Paint it on a banner and dance it around?

"Hermione Granger, for being a bloody brilliant witch, you really are slow."

Hermione lifted her face enough to glare at him with one eye. "What do you mean?" she said groggily.

"Angelina and I are just friends. 'S matter of fact, she's probably off snogging some Durmstrang right now. What you saw isn't what you thought you saw, and besides…you'll never see it again. Not while I'm completely smitten by you."

Opening and closing her mouth, Hermione stared at him. Suddenly she was aware at how horrid she must look. Her hair was pasted to her wet cheeks, her gown was wrinkled from sitting this way, and the make-up that Lavender had helped her apply had mostly been rubbed off. Did he really just say smitten? Her stomach felt like it was performing backflips. The way he was staring at her, she could almost believe him, even after what she'd seen with Angelina. She wanted so badly to say that she never wanted to pretend he didn't exist again.

"But what about you and Krum, eh? Prince Charming turn back into a frog?"

"That's not funny, Fred," she said quietly, laying her cheek on her knee cap and closing her eyes. "I've had enough about Viktor from you Weasley boys to last me a lifetime."

"Come on, Hermione. I'm about as psychic as a log...you're going to have to be less vague. What's going on?" Hermione made a grunt-like noise from under the solace of her arms, and Fred sighed impatiently. "I don't speak troll either. Out with it."

With a sigh that lifted and then dropped her shoulders, Hermione managed to get out, "Ron."

"Ah, you mean that annoying string thing that pals along with Harry Potter? What of him?"

Even at that, Hermione didn't crack a smile. Her voice shook as she told Fred about their fight, about what he had said, and Fred started slowly shaking his head. If only Krum knew how many Weasleys were considering making his death look like an accident. Poor Ron. Hermione really was oblivious. Boys weren't usually jealous without cause.

"And then he had the nerve to say, 'they get scary when they get older'." Hermione threw up her hands as if this was the worst of what Ron had said, then brought the hands back over her face. Smiling to himself, Fred peeled the hands away so he could see her face, which was at the moment flushed.

"Git."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ron, I mean. He's a git."

"Oh. I suppose so."

"He's crazy about you though," Fred said slowly, as though it were painful for him to admit. Hermione started to object, and he cut in, "Really. Has been since your first year, I think. You can't blame him for not wanting you to be with someone as…well…_everything_ as Krum is. Not a bloke at this school that wouldn't give his-" She gasped and went pinker as Fred mentioned a prized possession of men, "-to be Krum. And he wants to be with you. Not easy to compete with that, eh? I should know."

After that, Hermione started to slide her feet back into her shoes. Fred watched her, not knowing if he'd made the impression he'd hoped for. He couldn't get over the fact that she was either so unsure of herself that she couldn't believe she actually fancied him when he came right out and said it...or that she couldn't trust him enough to take him at his word. What was so hard to believe about him liking her?

Well, alright, everything...but all the same. This shouldn't be so bloody complicated. He should be able to tell her liked her without worrying about dooming their friendship or scaring her away. It should be as easy as him just leaning over and kissing her, which he was a second away from doing. Glancing at him, Hermione seemed to sense what he was about to do, and stood quickly, leaving him down below. He sighed and grudgingly stood, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Thank you, Fred," she said quietly. "I'm sorry everything has gotten so..."

"I know." He nodded, looking up at the ceiling. "Me too."

"I'll...see you soon?"

As Fred started down the stairs, he gave a shake of his ginger head and grinned. Because Hermione had actually sounded hopeful about that. "You should be so lucky, Granger."


	7. Stolen Time

Hermione barely slept at all that night, and it was all Fred's fault. Even with the constant dread of thinking about seeing Ron tomorrow...Fred was smitten with her! She very nearly did a jig as she walked up to the dormitory, grinning to herself. As soon as she came to the beds, she was very nearly tackled by Lavender and Pavarti demanding to know all the juicy details. She unthinkingly almost started to talk about Fred before she realized they wanted to know about Viktor. Had he kissed her? Were they going to see each other again? Was she in love? She, she thought so. Just not with Viktor.

The next morning, she woke up with a smile on her face, like it'd been there through the night. Lavender eyed her sideways as she hummed beneath her breath, pulling on a light blue sweater, then deciding on red instead, since that was Fred's favorite color. She made it all the way down to The Great Hall, surrounded by a bubble of bliss, skipping so that Seamus and Dean put their heads together and started snorting about how Viktor must be a good kisser.

"Good morning!" Hermione chirped, taking a spot next to Harry.

Ron swivelled to glare at her; her bubble popped.

"You're cheery this morning," he muttered darkly, and started to say more, but Hermione thought Harry might've kicked him under the table. Seeing something over Hermione's head, Ron made a face. "Oh, look. Here comes the Durmstrang lot. And your boyfriend. Why don't you go sit with _him _then? He probably won't spoil everything for you."

Blushing wildly, Hermione leaned toward him, face pleading. "Ron...Ron, please. I hate it when you're angry with me." She tried to put a hand on his arm, but he jerked the arm away with a scowl.

"He's not her boyfriend anyways, Ron." _Fred_! The twins plopped down across the table, Fred's eyes glancing ever-so-briefly over Hermione's stricken face. "He's her fiance."

"_What_?" Hermione burst out. Fred was supposed to be on her side!

"Only repeating what I heard from the Lavender-Pavarti fountain of scandals," Fred said, holding up his hands innocently. "Apparently, you're eloping with Krum tonight and...what was the phrase, George?"

"Repopulating Bulgaria within a fortnight," George mumbled through a mouthfull of crepes that he'd stolen right off the astounded Ron's plate.

"That's the one!" Fred nodded deeply, using his wand to summon a blue berry muffin from down the table, setting it down on Hermione's empty plate. "You'd better gather your strength, Granger, you'll be needing it for your escapades."

_Now _Hermione understood. Fred and George were taking the Viktor rumors for what they were, nonsense, and trying to make Ron see the same...if by exaggerating them to embarrassing levels. She could've kissed him. Catching her eye for just a second, he winked a wink that seemed to say he had her back. Luckily, Ron was too busy changing colors like a chameleon to notice, going from pink to red to an angry purple.

"That's not all I heard," Fred went on louder still. "I also heard that Krum and Hermione are also planning to conquer Karkaroff and dominate Durmstrang, creating a new wizarding malitia."

"Now that's ridiculous," Hermione began embarrassedly, aware that they were drawing looks from up and down the Gryffindor table. Oh, if this got back to Viktor...

"I'm not finished! I then heard that Krum has actually been seeing Hermione since the world cup, when he spotted her in our box and confused her for a veela! _Then_ I heard that Krum actually has Hermione under an illegal love potion!" Fred ranted, waving his fork like a baton.

"_THAT'S BLOODY C_R_AZY_!" Ron finally burst out, slapping a hand to the table hard enough to rattle their goblets together. "Who'd believe something like that, anyways? Complete rubbish." He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head as he looked at Hermione with...what was that? Pity? "Forget it, Hermione, people will believe anything."

A deeply awkward silence came over the table, interrupted only by George's enthusiastic requisition of his syrupy crepes.

"That," Fred said seriously, his voice low, "my dear brother, I think that's the smartest thing you've said all day. Well, George. My work here is done. I do believe we have work to be about."

"Ah, yes," George said, standing, and then just as casually hopping up onto the table. "I forgot that we are looking for eager youngsters to test out products and earn themselves _glory_, _riches_, and _fame_!"

"That's glory, riches, and fame, ladies and gentlemen!" Fred echoed grandly. He gave a bow to the Slytherin table. "I'm talking to you too, Bulgarians!"

A buzz followed the twins from the room, as it so often did, and Hermione turned to stare down at her blueberry muffin. Ron nudged him with his elbow and cleared his throat gruffly.

"Listen, Hermoine..."

"Forget it, Ron," Hermione said quickly, smiling up at him. "It's not worth it."

Relieved, Ron heaved a sigh of relief so that his face returned to its natural color. Then he smiled back. "You're really great, you know that?"

The forwardness of it, combined with Fred's words from last night, startled Hermione into dropping her spoon. She was glad for the excuse to put her red face under the table and hide from his eyes. She'd never thought that Ron might...that their friendship might...well, she just hadn't expected this, that was all. She guessed they really were growing up.

"So, Hermione," Ron said from above the table, "_can_ you get me Krum's autograph?"

* * *

"Harry you told me you'd figured the egg out weeks ago. The task is two days from now!"

"Really? I had no idea. I suppose Viktor's already figured it out."

"I wouldn't know. We don't actually talk about the tournament. Actually we don't really talk at all, Viktor's more of a physical being. I just mean he's not particularly loquacious! Mostly he watches me study. It's a bit annoying actually...You _are_ trying to figure this egg out aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean these tasks are supposed to test you, in the most brutal way. They're almost cruel. And...um...I'm scared for you. You got by the dragon mostly on nerve...I'm not sure it's going to be enough this time."

Harry looked up, the wind ruffling his hair, as Cedric Diggory shouted his name from down the wooden bridge he and Hermione were standing on. Hermione could tell that whatever Cedric had to say was important, so with a final, pleading glance at Harry, so made herself turn around and beginning walking, sighing as went. _Oh Harry, please, please, please be careful! _A bit of sun slid between two lumpy clouds, and golden warmth hit Hermione's eyes, making her squint. Despite the nippy breeze and the clouds always on the verge of storming, it was a beautiful day. She wished she could stop worrying about Harry and the looming second task long enough to enjoy it. But Harry always seemed to think luck and courage were enough to get him by where he really needed a few hours in the library with that egg. Oh, Harry. He and Ron would never really learn.

"Oi, Granger!" Bitting back a grin, Hermione turned around to watch Fred as he jogged her way, wearing a knit winter hat down low over his ears. They hadn't spent much time together since The Yule Ball, but he always had a smile for her between classes, and a wink when no one was watching. It wasn't the same as being alone, though. "Have a minute?"

"I suppose so. For what?"

"Just something. Walk with me." It was a request, however he put it. She nodded, and he grinned, starting forward with her on his heels.

"Where are we-"

"Shh. You'll see." The way he kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye made Hermione think he was actually nervous, or at least, uncertain. Nevertheless, that Weasley twin grin never faded for a second, and she wondered if that should worry her.

He led her down a cobblestone path that hugged the outer castle wall. Little did Ms. Granger know that he'd been planning this all week, making arrangements for Ron to be occupied and George and Lee to be busy (Angelina had taken care of that, lord bless her), and of course, he had to catch Hermione alone in a window where she wouldn't have to hurry off to class. He looked at her sideways, cute in her winter coat with her hair pulled back. He'd never brought anyone here before, not any girl he'd snogged, not even George, though he at least knew of it.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped, frowning at him. A few feet in front of them, the ground dropped away in a sheer fall. The cobblestone walk around the castle trailed into the grass. There was no where else to go...or so it would seem, Fred thought deviously. Leaning against the castle wall was his old cleansweep, well loved and used. He snatched it up and settled on it while Hermione stood gaping at him.

"I'm not getting on that with you," she said firmly, once she'd found her breath.

"Well, this is bound to be the shortest date in the history of Hogwarts, then, isn't it?" Fred teased. "Come on. We're not flying more than ten feet, I promise you."

Making a face, Hermione raised her leg over the broom and after a pause, put her hands on Fred's shoulders. He made a noise.

"Waist."

Sighing, Hermione readjusted so that she was holding on around his middle, and beaming against his back. He could probably feel the heat of her face through his jacket; she wasn't sure she cared. She'd never flown on a broomstick with a boy before, and it wasn't as though-

She yelped as Fred kicked off, burrying her face in his back. Not three second later, her feet were on grass again. What in the world?

It was a patch of ground tucked in a corner of the castle exposed to the valley, unreachable by the main grounds. Just a small ten by ten square of grass that sloped down into a cliff, large enough so that Hermione didn't feel frightened of the edge, small enough to seem like a secret place. From here, she could see the lake, the river, the Forbidden Forest, the hills, Hagrid's hut, the Whomping Willow and the whole expanse of the sky, still roiling with clouds. She looked straight up; there were windows in the side of the castle, but she and Fred were too close to the wall to be seen by anyone.

As she stood and stared, Fred flopped down to the grass and stretched out comfortably on his back, his cleansweep beside him.

"Brilliant, no?" Fred said, sounding satisfied.

"Yes."

"What do you think?"

"I just said that it was brilliant."

"No, I said that."

"But I agreed."

"It's not the same thing."

"Practically."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"_Your_ opinion."

"Isn't that all that counts?"

"Please." Hermione plopped down beside him, and after a pause, lay on her back, so that their hands at their sides nearly brushed, sending a spike of butterflies up from her toes to her stomach. "Really though," she said more quietly, all too aware of the nearness of that hand. "This is nice. It's good not to have to think about...well...anything, really."

Fred came up to his elbow, half-turning toward her with a smile. "So right now you aren't thinking about anything?"

"Well, of course I'm thinking about _something_."

"But I didn't ask if you were thinking about something, I asked about anything."

"Fred!" Hermione laughed, shredding some grass and flinging it at him. He merely blinked and waved it away. "They're the same thing!"

"No they aren't. Nothing is the same thing."

She was about to tell him off for having a go at her, but then he reached and brushed a strand of grass off her cheek. He stared at her; she stared at him. Then he put out his arm, and she curled into it, resting her head on his warm, slowly-rising chest. The butterflies in Fred's stomach seemed to have morphed into giant, flapping eagles likely to pick him up and carry away. Hermione's hair was soft beneath his chin, clean-smelling and cold from the weather.

"I was thinking," Hermione said into his chest. "That I think I had a crush on you two weeks into the school year, when I tripped over a trap you had said up for Filch...remember? You had cued dung bombs and all these strange explosions that made my hair stand on end. I was so furious and I knew it was you and George the moment my foot caught in that ridiculous mess. But you came and-"

"-pulled your foot out of the trap and froze the explosions...gave you the sweater Mum knit me for the holidays last year so that you could hide your face till you reached the Gryffindor common room."

"Oh, is that what that was?" Hermione asked, sounding sheepish. She traced the pattern on his shirt with a finger, leaving a trail of fire behind - or that's what it felt like. "I thought it was just a rag."

Fred gave a jolly laugh, staring up at the sky. "I'll let Mum know you said so...she may not be so keen on shipping you an Easter treat after all, which would be fine by me, by the way. The more candy for her actual blood relatives."

Hmm, there was a thought...Mum. Oh, she'd definitely approve of Hermione. More than once, she'd whined at Ron about not letting her slip away. But there was just the thing...it was Ron she whined at, not Fred, not her unruly son planning to open a joke shop after he left Hogwarts. There were a lot of people who'd raise their eyebrows over seeing Fred and Hermione together, George least of all. At least George trusted his judgement. Fred wasn't so sure everyone else wouldn't be stalking him to make sure he really meant to keep Hermione, not use her up and throw her away, like some boys would.

"I knew I fancied you at the World Cup," he said lightly.

"What?" Hermione tilted back her chin to stare at him, astounded. She tried to think back over that weekend at The World Cup and remember any special interaction that might've occured, but all she could remember was the attack on the muggles, and then death eaters...she shivered. He hardly even spoke to her, except for that one time...oh, and that other time...and then there was when he...oh. She cringed guiltily.

"Forget it, Hermione," he said bracingly, still staring at the sky, wondering if it was going to rain on them. As though in answer, thunder grumbled distantly, rumbling the ground beneath their backs. Hermione raised her wand arm and cast a smell that made a small, shimmering dome over them, keeping back the sprinkles as they started pittering down. "It was just a crush. I would never have thought you'd feel the same for me, so it didn't bother me. Just forget it."

"Alright," Hermione said slowly. Fred could feel her eyelashes brushing his neck when she blinked. "Tell me about it?"

"Are you really that anxious to hear me make a git out of myself?" Silence. "That's a yes, then. Alright, have it your way. Where to begin. Right. The beginning...always forget that one..."


	8. The World Cup

_Flashback_

"Good morning, Hermione," Percy greeted Hermione nobly, his chin held high. His manner suggested she was in the presence of greatness. "Did your parents find us alright?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, waving one last time at the taillights of the modest red car bumbling down the Weasley's long drive. She grinned, remembering how her parents had stared at the sprawling, tipping Burrow, wondering whether it was a barn or a house.

"Just fine, once we were on the right track. Where are the boys?" she asked as Percy waved her into the cluttered Weasley kitchen, where the only movement and sound came from the dishes that appeared to be doing themselves.

"Lazing about in Ron's room, I expect." And who could blame them! The sun hadn't even risen over the distant hills yet, and the sky was still in its inbetween shades of blue and gold, holding a smattering of faint stars. "Honestly, why Mother doesn't iron out my siblings laziness with a firm hand of discipline-"

"If you knew how firm that hand was," George mumbled as he pattered down the stairs, his red hair standing every which way, "you'd say differently. After all, what has Perfect Percy ever done to earn himself a switching?"

Yawning, Fred jumped the last few steps to land beside his twin. "There was that one time he replaced Mum's figurine collection with garden gnomes, remember? I can still faintly hear the screams."

"I was framed!" Percy spat indignantly, straightening his horned glasses. "You and George set that spell with _my_ wand!"

As much as Hermione knew she shouldn't be laughing, she had to smother her laughter in a hand when Percy put his red face dangerously close to Fred's only to have his glasses sprayed hen Fred accepted an apple from George and bit into it with gusto. As Percy made noises of digust and started polishing his glasses on his jumper, Molly and Ginny thumped down the stairs, Molly looking merely frazzled, but Ginny looking about ready to fall back asleep right where she was standing. She tipped to the side, and Molly straightened her back out again without even looking.

"Oh! Hello, Hermione, when did you get here? Never mind dear, why don't you go on up and wake up Ron and Harry? They were up talking so late last night about this ridiculous-"

"Mum!" the twins scolded together.

"Well it _is_, all this commotion and hastle just to watch young people beat the life from one another. Might as well just take sticks and stones to each other like savages."

"Dear Mother." George put a hand over his heart as though mortally injured by her words, and closed his eyes for effect. "To hear you speak of such a wizarding legacy in that manner…I mean, quidditch takes skill! _That_," he jerked his chin at Percy, whose nose was pointed down at a fat book that appeared to be a compilation of biographies of past Ministers of Magic, "simply takes loads of lonely free time and a commitment to remain single for the rest of your life."

"Yeah, Mum," Fred chimed in as he sat down heavily at the kitchen table. "And savages didn't ride broomsticks when they beat each other with sticks. They rode dinosaurs. See the difference?"

Glowering at the backs of her sons' heads, Molly shook her head and then turned back to Hermione. "_Anyways_, dear, will you go tell them breakfast is on? Arthur has you children on a tight schedule."

With an agreeable nod, Hermione skipped up the stairs, leaving behind the twins, Percy, and the catatonic Ginny to go fetch her best friends. The closer she came to Ron's room, the better she could hear someone tossing and turning, talking in their sleep. It sounded like Harry. He was still having the nightmares, then. Oh, Harry. She had hoped things would've gotten better after the end of last school year, when things had ended on such an up. Sirius and Buckbeak running free...Sirius's gift of the Firebolt...

She supposed those things, while happy, only really could distract a person from thinking about the inevitible. Peter Pettigrew had escaped, and Harry had seemed certain he was going to try to find You-Know-Who whereever he was hiding. As Hermione put a hand on Ron's bedroom door and pushed it open, she sighed to herself, troubled. For now, all they could do was wait to see and hope that he'd been wrong.

* * *

"Ron, close your mouth," Hermione prompted.

Ron turned a bleary pair of eyes on her as he chewed smacked his lips around his biscuits and bacon, which Hermione could see clear as day.

"Fat chance," George whispered in an undertone even as Ron pulled his mouth shut with difficulty, as if even putting out that much effort very nearly killed him. Next to him, Harry's head was nodding down towards his bowl of porridge, his glasses dangling precariously on the tip of his nose. Hermione sighed, stretched out a finger, and poked the glasses back into place, simultaneously waking Harry.

"I was a- a-waaaake," Harry yawned, jerking.

Honestly, it was as though these boys had never seen the sunrise before. Or Ginny, for that matter. Right on cue, Ginny's head dropped onto Fred's shoulder, and she started snoring. Rolling his eyes (which were only slightly puffy), he put an arm around his younger sister and pulled her chair nearer to his so that her neck wasn't so strained, letting her sleep. Hermione had a hard time not staring, at that. She couldn't ever recall seeing Fred or George act tender as Fred was doing now...maybe because at Hogwarts, they had such a reputation to uphold, one that didn't leave room for babying their little sister. Feeling Hermione's eyes on him, Fred glanced at her, grinned, and shrugged his free shoulder.

"Alright, kids!" Arthur Weasley walked into the room, cheerfully heaving a huge rucksuck over his shoulder. "Grab your bags, kiss your mum, it's time to go! We don't want to keep the Diggorys waiting!"

His chipper voice didn't exactly help to launch his children awake; Ginny gave a great snort and twitched on Fred's shoulder. One by one, the Weasley kids and then Harry and Hermione filed out the front door, letting Molly kiss their foreheads, or in George's case, swat irritably at him as he came through the line twice. As Ginny was still only semi-conscious, Fred settled for carrying her for the first half mile or so of their walk, and he and George joked about playing catch with her, wondering if even that would bring her around. The mere mention of it did.

"I can walk on my own now, thanks," she insisted, squirming so that Fred staggered and grunted. He dropped her as if she'd burned his hands - then Hermione noticed that Ginny had her wand out, and wondered if maybe she had. As Ginny looked to Hermione, about to say good morning (and not realizing she and Hermione had already had this conversation twice), Fred abruptly stopped walking, so that Ginny marched right into him and then toppled backward, saved from falling on her backside only by a startled Harry.

Fred blinked back at her innocently. "You so sure, dear sister?"

"I'll get you for that," Ginny warned, blushing as she thanked Harry for his quick catch. She dove past Hermione and at Fred, who at the last second, dodged to the side so that Ginny's grapple took George around the waist instead. With a squaw of alarm, George tripped and barely managed to not face plant.

"And what did I do to deserve this?" George asked as he fought off Ginny, who was still blithely unaware that she was clinging to the wrong twin.

"I always told you that dung bomb you slipped under her pillow last year would come back to haunt you," Fred said with a shrug, eyes twinkling.

"That was you, George?" Ginny gasped, then blinked and looked twice at who she was trying to pummel. "Wait…George_? __Fred_! You rotten little-"

"Kids, save the tomfoolery for later, we're almost there!" Mr. Weasley called from ahead, keeping up a brisk march and whistling an old campfire song as he went.

This was why Hermione loved the Weasleys. Yes, she allowed grudgingly, all of them. When she was with them, she was _one _of them; she never felt out of place, never felt unwelcome. She loved her parents dearly, loved their suburban muggle house and the little traditions they honored (Hermione always came home from Hogwarts to find a basket of sugarfree candy on her pillows and a pair of tickets to the museum on her wardrobe), but sometimes the Grangers lacked that feeling of messy, difficult, warm, family.

The greenery around them thickened as meadows turned into forests, and forests into thickets. Overhead the sky was lightening to a sleepy white, and now only a few dim stars remained.

"Where are we actually going?" Harry asked behind Hermione as she looked all around, trying to get her bearings. She couldn't pinpoint where on the map they should be, based on how long they'd been hiking.

"Don't know. Hey Dad! Where are we going?" Ron called ahead.

"Haven't the foggiest, keep up!"

While that should probably be worrying, Hermione knew that as many books as she'd read, Arthur Weasley was still twice as levelheaded and experienced as she'd maybe ever be...when he let it show. If his navigating skills didn't pull through, well, he'd probably know the perfect spell for redirecting them - oh, or maybe he'd take them away through sidelong apparition! Hermione was _dying _to try it.

Up ahead, a round-bellied man with a pleasant face was waiting with his back against a big oak tree. Seeing them, he straightened and waved, coming forward on a walking stick.

"Arthur!" He and Mr. Weasley shook hands firmly. "It's about time, son."

"Sorry, Amos. Some of us had a bit of a sleepy start. This is Amos Diggory, everyone, he works with me at the ministry."

Hermione jumped as an athletically tall figure hopped down from an overhead branch, landing crouched and straightening easily. Mr. Diggory introduced his son Cedric, who Hermione remembered noticing at Hogwarts. It was hard _not _to notice Cedric, with that thick hair and smooth skin and perfectly aligned teeth. He made Gilderoy Lockheart look like a whithered hag, and it was a well-known fact that Hermione had kept an autograph of Lockheart's under her pillow until just last spring. Alright, _this _spring. Then it had migrated to her desk.

Ginny elbowed Hermione, and the two exchanged a look and giggled, then hurried on after Cedric, though keeping up with his long strides wasn't exactly convenient.

"Fred, George," Cedric addressed the twins with a model smile, clearly not sure who was who. "Didn't think you remembered me from Quidditch last year. Last time we played Gryffindor-"

"Yeah, I remember," George said curtly, glancing sideways at Cedric's sparkling smile with something close to disdain. "Dementors came in and blew our win, didn't they?"

Hermione fully intended to budge in before either Fred or George could be any ruder to Cedric - why were boys always so competitive? - but Cedric spared her the need.

"Well, yes, but I was just going to say how impressed everyone was by you all playing so well, given the conditions. If Harry hadn't fallen off his broom, you probably would have had a clean victory."

Cedric meant well, but Hermione thanked his timing more than anything...Harry was still back talking to Mr. Diggory, and he hadn't heard the broom comment. Fred's lip curled as he eyed Cedric, clearly thinking the same thing. Thankfully, before he could say anything, Mr. Diggory announced, "That's it, just over there!"

It was the peak of a tall hill, surrounded on all side by lower foothills, covered in stringy weeds that bounced in the light morning breeze. The sun broke over the crest of the hill, bursting red and gold and making Hermione squint as she ran up after Ginny. And there, at the top of the hill, was a gross, faded, smelly boot, sitting as if waiting for them.

"Why are they all standing around that manky old boot?" Harry asked, echoing Hermione's thoughts. Fred and George came forward, grinning, to take their places around the beaten thing.

"That isn't just any old boot, mate."

"It's a portkey."

A portkey! Brilliant! It wasn't sidelong apparition, but it was the next best thing. She'd read about portkeys the summer before her first year at Hogwarts, but this was the first time she'd actually be able to experience one, though, she thought with a grimace, it was a bit unfortunate that meant handling a boot that looked like it'd been sleeping at the bottom of a pond for the last two decades. She put her hand on it, and a moment later, felt a strong jerk behind her naval as her and the others spun through the air, all clutching the boot, everything outside their circle just a blur of unimportance.

* * *

"Bet that cleared your sinuses, eh?"

Oh, sure, Fred thought as he leaned up from his back with a groan. Here he and the others were laying sprawled in the grass, and Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and the pretty boy Cedric were floating down gracefully, all easy smiles. He'd like to learn that trick. It couldn't be nearly so hard as this ground he'd collided with.

Then he realized his ears were buzzing with the distant buzz of thousands of excited voices, cheering, laughing, singing. They were here.

Fred had always loved watching quidditch games (especially when it came to watching the Holyhead Harpies...Gwenog Jones, anybody?), but nothing compared to the beautiful chaos produced by The World Cup. Unorganized rows of tents and huts were rudely constructed up and down the lolling meadows where the grass was packed down flat by hundreds upon thousands of footprints. Hundreds of wizards, some disguised as muggles, others decked out full Bulgarian or else Irish colors, chatted between their tends while their children raced each other in circles or else compared trading cards of famous beaters and seekers. Mr. Diggory and Cedric said their farewells and went in search of their own campsite as Mr. Weasley manuevered his train of followers between crowds.

Fred saw it first: the small, rather shabby tent that faded into the background, surrounded on all sides by grander tents as it was. He sighed and made a mental note to invest in a new tent for his family if he became rich with a joke shop…no, _when_ he became rich with a joke shop. For now, he couldn't exactly complain. He was at The World Cup. Little could dampen his spirits now.

* * *

"…and just imagine the hours put into creating defensive charms guarding muggles from knowing what's going on! The ministry has outdone themselves, but you know, I think…"

Blimey, didn't she ever shut up? Fred exchanged a pained look with George as Hermione rattled on to anyone who would listen. You'd think she'd be saving her breath. The stairs winding up to their seats in the quidditch stadium had to number in the upper thousands. Even Fred, who'd been run into the ground by Oliver every quidditch season and forced to stay in halfway decent ship, was feeling a little winded, dragging his trainers from landing to landing.

"Blimey, dad, how far up are we?" Ron panted as they turned yet another tight corner to face a new set of stairs.

"Well, put it this way, if it rains...you'll be the first to know."

The air abruptly seemed colder...almost as cold as that drawling voice they had all come to know and loath. Fred turned with his family to regard Lucious and Draco Malfoy. The Malfoys peered up at them from the level below, pale, narrow faces almost identical for meanness. But Fred had yet to encounter a face that couldn't be rearranged with a few well aimed spells.

"Father and I are in the minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!" Draco bragged, but Fred was unimpressed. The minister's box, eh? Well, cheers to them. They could enjoy the company of a bunch of stuffy, rich prats. That would be a load of laughs, right there.

"Don't boast, Draco, there's no need with these people." At least they were _people_ this time. Usually, Mr. Malfoy was in the habit of comparing the Weasleys to farm animals. "Do enjoy yourself won't you…while you can." Malfoy (the uglier one...if that helps at all) rapped Harry's knuckles with the end of his black, cruel walking stick as he said this last, and Fred opened his mouth to tell him just where he could put that stick. He stopped at a firm touch on his arm and blinked innocently down at Hermione as she shook her head disapprovingly.

"What? I was just going to tell him that the sooner he left, the sooner we could enjoy ourselves." That insult sounded as sweet as sugar compared to the one Fred had had on the tip of his tongue; by Hermione's expression, she knew as much.

"I'll bet you were," she said, flatly disbelieving, and released his arm to start climbing again. Fred weighed wanting to pick a fight with her against following his own advice and saving his breath for the last million and a half stairs. Nine times out of ten, Hermione was wearing that lofty, indignant look around him and George. It would do no good to overreact to it this time. But my, Little Ms. Granger could sure put his back up. It didn't help anything that she was pretty while doing it.

He almost missed a step. Where had that come from?

Yes, they were in the top-most box overlooking the field, but even though that meant that the quidditch players were minimized to dollhouse-sized figures, they still had a fantastic view of the pitch and the people, the thousands of green or burgundy faces, the bold "kiss me, I'm Irish" flags waving (Seamus was probably over there somewhere, hopefully holding the tail of the flag)…George let out a triumphant whoop upon cresting the last of the stairs, and Fred joined him, laughing. Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley all pulled into a straight line in the box. They barely had time to settle in before a burst of green-clad players soared in from the west to the sound of ear-shattering cheers. The Bulgarians followed shortly, not to be outdone as they broke up the ranks of the Irish in an arrow formation.

Fred and George screamed as loud as anyone, in fact, louder than most. Except for Ginny. As the players tore up the pitch in a brutal give-and-then-take game, Ginny shouted complaints at the referees, pointers at the chasers, and insults at the witches and wizards cheering for the Bulgarians. Fred was sure his head would be ringing with his little sister's voice for the rest of his life.

"I'm half-parched," Ginny said hoarsely when there was a lull in the game (one of the chasers was getting his leg mended...the Bulgarian beaters really should've paid closer to attention to McGarret's bludger). "Hermione, come and get a drink?"

"Your mum wouldn't much like you two wandering off in this crowd," Mr. Weasley said before Hermione could answer. "Fred, George, take the girls for a drink?"

"_Dad_," George sighed, playing with Harry's brand new omnioculars. "I'm in the middle of some important research. Ron and Harry, on the other hand," he gestured to the two boys, who were pushing around a stomping Krum figurine with their fingers, snickering, "are playing with dolls. Couldn't they…?"

"I'll take them," Fred offered, realizing how thirsty he was. Besides...he'd seen some veela's signing autographs down a few levels. He wanted to drag George along, but his twin had pressed the omnioculars to his forehead again, and was letting out a low whistle at whatever he was rewatching.

"Well, hurry up then, we don't want to miss anything!" Ginny said snippily, as if _he _was the one needing _her _supervision. He tousled her hair roughly as he pattered down the stairs past her, and almost gave Hermione the same treatment before she gave him a look that would've made a tea kettle go to boil. He wished she'd stop acting like Percy. She could be downright pleasant when she put her bushy head to it.

The nearest drink vendor's charmed cart was hovering in front of him as he walked. Every now and again it would shout in a bored sort of voice, "What's Quidditch without Bertie Bott's? Taste the real flavor of the pitch, taste the sweat of the players," while the vendor wearing burgundy and emerald robes (to please both sets of fans) collected knuts. Hermione and Ginny simultaneously let out an, "ew" at the idea of savoring a quidditch player's sweat, but Fred grinned and shook his red head. He would have come up with a much better sales pitch than that.

"What'll it be, what'll it be," the man asked, flicking his wand to fill cups and cardboard boxes of popcorn. Fred dug for the loose change in his pockets, coming up with his half of his and George's profits from over the summer (Molly hadn't known they'd been doing custom orders with Lee since May), and then glanced at the girls.

"Butterbeer?"

The girls nodded. The man brought up three drinks, took Fred's money, and then went on without another glance in their direction, his hovering cart drawing a wheezy breath before it went on with its hawking. Fred passed out the cups, and blinked as Hermione took her drink and tried to hand him a few silver sickles.

"Here, for the drink."

"Don't worry about it."

"Oh, Fred, just take it," Hermione said exasperatedly, dropping the coins into his hand so that he had to scramble to catch them. She lowered her voice and added so only he could hear, "Save your ill-earned profits for something else."

Alarmed, Fred didn't know whether to smile at her cleverness or scowl at her know-it-all...ness. He settled halfway between and smirked at her, surprised when she actually smiled back, even if the smile was decidedly disgruntled.

"You should do that more."

"What's that?" Hermione asked as they took to their seats again. The game was getting ready to start up again; the players were in the air, the injured chaser only slightly wobbly on his broom.

"Smile."

"I smile all the time," Hermione said coldly. Seeming to catch herself, she forced a smile that made him snort into his cup of butterbeer. Only then did her smile become real.

* * *

"There's no one like Krum. He's like a bird the way he rides the wind. He'smore than an athlete, he's an artist!" Ron was standing on top of a chair, rambling on about the sheer magnificence of Viktor Krum. Standing over by the oven, Hermione was almost embarrassed at the way the boys were raving about Krum...he was just a person, after all. The way Ron was going on, you'd think Krum the greatest thing since chocolate frogs. And Fred and George...they were shameless. They sounded like a pair of crows as they babbled nonsense about Krum and danced around Ron on his pedestal.

"Viktor I love you..."

"Viktor I do! When we're apart my heart beats only for you!"

What, now _Harry _was joining in? Boys were ridiculous. Fred had proved as much when he'd teased her about smiling. She smiled all the time, he knew that! He'd known her for four years, so he had no excuse to-

A loud explosion sounded from outside, and Hermione paused, her heart freezing up in her chest.

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on!" Fred and the boys laughed, but Hermione was frowning, worried. That hadn't sounded like fireworks to her.

Just then, Mr. Weasley rushed into the tent, tense and red-faced. "Stop! Stop it!" he snapped, and Harry and his children's smiles faded uneasily. Mr. Weasley rarely used that tone. "It's not the Irish. We've got to get out of here. Now." With that, he dashed for the door again, his panic catching and pulling his children to follow.

Hermione stumbled to a halt outside the tent, gasping. Everywhere she looked, tents were on fire, like pyramids of flame that sent sparks cascading upwards. A smog of smoke and fear lay over the campsites, stinging her throat. Witches and wizards running every which way jostled past her, and she clutched at Harry's arm as much to steady herself as for comfort. Everyone might be running from the fires, but Hermione doubted it. On a nearby hillock, hazy, silhouetted figures were marching in formation to their dull, thrumming chant. Their hoods were pulled up, hiding their faces, but she was glad for that; she didn't want to see their faces, and she didn't need to, not to know that they were evil. This was an attack.

"Get back to the portkey everybody, and stick together!" Arthur Weasley shouted over the din of panic. "Fred, George, Ginny is your responsability!"

"Comon'!" George bellowed, snatching up Ginny's hand and dragging her into a run.

Almost immediately, their group began to fall apart - there were just too many other witches and wizards wanting to reach safety first. Hermione's hand was sweating in Ron's, but he wasn't holding onto hers any less tightly than she was to his. Making a sound of quiet desperation, Hermione stretched out her other hand for Harry - and gasped when she realized he was gone.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, and yanked Ron to a stop. As soon as he saw what she did, he cursed and spun about, cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling for Harry, wherever he was. Then he glanced over his shoulder and shouted, "Fred! George! Wait!" But the twins and Ginny were gone, and Ron's voice was muted beneath the babble of frightened voices all around them, the sound of chickens when they knew a fox was in the coop.

"Maybe...he'll know to keep looking for the portkey?" Ron asked, sounding unnerves.

Hermione hesitated, then put her feet into motion again. They'd never find Harry in this tangled mess, and he knew they were supposed to regroup at the boot. It was their best chance. Tripping as often as not, she ran with Ron on her heels toward the tall mound they had arrived on, choking against the smoke that felt as though it were pursuing them. She heaved a sigh of relief (and choked some more) when two tall silhouettes and one shorter one rose up out of the dim haze, waiting by the boot, their voices heated.

"Should we go back for them?"

"We're not taking Ginny back there."

"But we can't leave her here!"

"And you can't go alone, and neither can I. Damn."

"Wait...look!" Ginny's voice quivered as she stepped past the twins, spying Hermione and Ron and instantly taking count of who was missing. "Wh-where's Harry?"

"We lost him," Ron panted, doubling over with his hands on his knees. "He's not here?"

"No.," George said grimly, glaring down into the sea of orange that was the meadow of campsites. The fires were dying down to a warm smolder, but it still looked like a crushed anthill. An anthill that Harry was lost in. "We'll have to go find him. Hermione, Ron, you stay with Ginny."

"What?"

"No!"

"Don't go!"

"Harry's our friend, we'll find him."

"Is this because I'm a girl?"

"We're the oldest, we know the most," Fred argued, and Hermione couldn't recall ever having seen he and George so serious before, or hearing that tone of authority from him. Not that that changed anything.

"I beg to differ," Hermione said tightly, and Fred spared her a smirk. Well, it was true, and he knew it.

"I'll take her back, if you like." The group jumped at the unexpected voice of Cedric as he rose up over the hill in a jog, not even winded. For some reason, Hermione felt a burst of annoyance toward him. No one should look that dashing with ash on their face! Not at a time like this! "I have to wait for my father on the other end. I promised I'd go." He made a pained face. "Otherwise I'd stay and help you find Harry. I'll keep my eye on Ginny, though, if you four really think you want to go back there."

"Thanks, mate," George said somewhat grudgingly, exchaning a look with Fred. "Alright, Ginny?"

"Hurry back," was all Ginny said, sounding shaken as she stepped up besides Cedric. "Find Harry."

"We will," Ron promised, his voice stronger only by a margin. "Come on."

He and Hermione turned to head back down the hill, and after making sure that Ginny and Cedric set off okay, Fred and George joined them.

"We should split up," George suggested, hunching his lean shoulders to duck beneath the smoke.

"How will we know if someone finds Harry? We should stick together," Hermione insisted, rubbing her arms as if she was cold even though the warm air was making her skin break out in sweat. She hoped she really meant that, and that she wasn't just being a coward. But the thought of setting out alone, in this...with those hooded figures out there...

"We'll find him faster this way. We'll regroup here, at this tree, in twenty minutes." Fred gestured to a thick oak just outside the ring of burning tents. "Keep your eyes open for dad, too, to let him know what's happened. Comon', George."

"Oh, be careful!" Hermione shouted after the twins as they dove into a fresh run. Her voice jerked roughly as Ron pulled her by her elbow in the opposite direction. Her legs felt wiry and weak from all this running, but she managed to trip into another shambling jog, gasping and massaging the stitch in her side. Harry had to be alright. If he hadn't found his way back to the boot, it was just because he'd gotten turned around. For a second, a horrifying image of the weasley Peter Pettigrew flashed through her head. You-Know-Who still had faithful followers out there who would be glad to see Harry- _no_. She wouldn't think like that! Not while she needed to focus!

"_Hermione_!"

Suddenly, Hermione was screaming, kicking to get back at run as a crowd of fifty wizards turned a corner in the campsites and charged past them. Ron's long fingers ripped out of hers. For a split second, she met his eyes - and then his freckled face was gone, yanked away. Or was it Hermione who was yanked away? Everything weas chaos. The world was spinning. There were people everywhere, pushing, pulling. When at last she fell out of the crowd and to the ground, covering her head until she could be sure someone wasn't going to trample

* * *

Mass hysteria was so overrated. But somehow, it had managed to separate Fred and George, so Fred had to hand it that. Touche, mass hysteria, touche.

It had happened so suddenly. One second Fred had been running, hot on George's identical heels, and the next, his foot had caught on the spoke of a tent and he'd gone airborne. By the time he'd gotten his wits about him and found his feet, George had disapeeared as surely as if he had disapparated. For a minute, Fred stood, waiting for George to come back. When it became apparent George had gone on without him (git), Fred picked a direction and started forward determinedly. With Harry, Hermione, Ron, George, and Dad all out there, it wouldn't be long until he happened upon one of them. Unless they were all dead. Hey, sometimes it paid to have foresight.

"Watch it!" he snarled when a burly wizard pummeled him with a shoulder and then rushed on. Grumpily massaging his arm, Fred decided it might just be best to head back to the portkey and wait on the others there. Wait...was that his name?

"Fred! Over here!"

Squinting against the smoke, Fred spotted Hermione's face between the shoulders of passing people, saw her hand flailing out to reach him. It meant going against the flow of the crowd, but he reached for her, teeth grit, shoulders squared. He grunted and cursed when people trod on his feet or jerked into him but kept bearing down on Hermione until her fingertips brushed his lightly. While he still could, he locked onto her wrist and tugged her in the direction he was being carried. It was a long minute before he was able to pull them together to the edge of the crowds, over into an abandoned campsite. Hermione instantly lowered herself down onto and upturned barrel, shaking from toe to nose.

"I thought I'd lost everyone," she breathed. There was a slightly wild look about her eyes as she looked over at him and gave a small jump. "Oh god, Fred, you're bleeding."

Fred peered down at his bloodied forearm. Ah, so that sting _hadn't_ been a charliehorse. If he ever saw that overlarge wizard who bumped into him again, he was going to give him a second set of ears. On his buttocks, no less.

"Pleasant," he droned in a voice that would've done Malfoy's some competition. "My shirt is going to be completely ruined."

Hermione scrambled to knee beside him as he sat down heavily on an empty packing crate and stretched his arm, testing the cut along the inside of his elbow, criss-crossing his veins. Well, that explained all the blood, anyways. "You need help," Hermione said shrilly, her hands shaking as she used them to tuck her hair behind her ears. "That's...that's so much blood...we should bind it, at least."

Fred's head lolled as he tried for a nod. He suddenly felt tired...tired enough to just close his eyes and go to sleep on the spot. Things even sounded quieter, now. Stifling a yawn, he propped his chin on his good hand, thinking that maybe just a minute of shuteye might be enough to get him back on his feet. It was going to be a long night, after all. A little nap wouldn't go amiss. The fires were even kind of nice. Hermione was pretty when she was panicked.

"FRED!" Hermione shouted at him, and he about toppled backwards off the crate. "Fred, stay awake, for goodness sake!"

"Good lord, woman, there's no need to scream," he told her in a loopy sort of voice, blinkly slowly. "What's all the fuss, anywa...oh. That is a lot of blood, isn't it?" He looked again at the arm and wriggled his fingers with a barely-suppressed winced. Then he mustered a chuckle that was supposed to calm down Hermione's nerves, but instead, seemed to make her think he had gone delusional. She drew back her hand and slapped him in side of the face, hard.

"Stay with me!" she cried, and Fred gave her a good shove, making her sit down.

"Get a grip, Hermione!" he shouted, his face smarting. "I'm not dying, for heaven's sake!"

Hermione came up to a crouch, her knees folded beneath her, and took a few deep breaths. She seemed much steadier when she looked into his face this time, if still a little shaken.

"I'm sorry. You're right. There's no reason to panic. We just need to stay...composed. That's the way to handle this. Composure."

"Rrrriiiighttt," Fred slurred. And not on purpose. He gave his head a shake to clear it. It was full of clouds that had nothing to do with the smoke lingering over the suddenly-silent campgrounds.

"Alright," Hermione eyed him, then cleared her throat. "I'll just get started, shall I?" She scooted her knees up to his, rummaged in the satchel slung across her shoulder, and came up with a roll of bandage tape she'd brought for emergencies. It always paid to take extra precautions, especially since she couldn't use magic outside of school yet. Muggle medicines might be crude, but they could work just as well.

"What's that?" Fred said, warily regarding the roll of tape and scooting back on his crate. The roll of cloth looked like something mummies would have used a couple thousand years ago. Definitely not something for a strapping young wizard such as himself. "You're not putting that on me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fred, it's just to stop the bleeding until we get home. Now. Move your hands. Fred. Move. Stop. Ouch!" Hermione grunted as Fred swatted her away repeatedly, dodging her hands. When it became clear he had no intentions of letting her have her way, she sprang forward, catching his arm in a stretch of the bandaging tape like a trap. She winced as he drew in a hard take of breath. "I'm sorry. Just hold still."

"Foul, cruel, little..." Fred's voice trailed off as he glared at her. "If I were any less a man," (Hermione snorted, and Fred paused to glare at her) "I take that stuff from you and...mercy!" He yelped as she tied off the tape in a firm knot. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle as she used the excess tape to smear away the blood that had dribbled down his forearm. Not surprising in the sense that Hermione wasn't a gentle person...she was, so far as Fred knew, though the stinging side of his face was a pained reminder that she could also be fierce...but surprising because she didn't need to be that gentle, not with him. He sat still and quiet as she worked and watched her face curiously.

A moment later, Hermione stood and dusted the knees of her pants, looking almost smug. "No need to thank me," she cut in lightly as he opened his mouth. He clicked it closed.

"Hadn't planned on it."

"I didn't think so."

"FRED!"

George and Ron had just sprinted around a corner with pale faces and ash-faded clothes. George made a choking noise in his throat when he saw Fred's arm but said nothing, just helped his twin up and started him walking. Now wasn't the time to be sitting still. The camp was dark, its colors muted by the smoke, and the silence was eerily pressing. Not a time to be sitting still at all.

"No Harry?" Hermione whispered, wringing her hands.

The boys shook their heads.

"I think we need to go back to the portkey," George said, eyes darting in and out of the shadows on all sides of them. If _he _was uneasy...Hermione took Ron's arm, and he held her hand tightly. "Dad'll find him-"

"-if he hasn't already," Fred finished, though he already saw in the stubborn sets of Ron and Hermione's jaws that they weren't keen on leaving Harry out here alone. Not that he blamed them. There was a feeling of wrongness about the night, about how silent it had suddenly become.

"We're not leaving Harry," Ron snapped defiantly.

"Neither are we, mate, but we aren't doing any good here."

"Just go on," Hermione insisted, and Fred looked at her, surprised. "Ron and I can't get separated, now. We'll be alright. We'll meet you on the other side of the portkey. Just go."

Then, following her own advice, she spun, and with Ron in tow, darted off before Fred could inform her that she'd gone clean off her rocker. He had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised. Hermione Granger the Know-It-All was showing shades of herself he'd never seen. She really was pretty when she was panicked.


	9. The I Really Dislike Viktor Krum Club

**Author's Note: Wow! Time flies, eh? -sheepish grin- No, really, my goal is to finish this within the month, though I still won't post chapters super regularly. It's too much fun to draw it all out and suck the life from you guys first. ;) Here we're onto the second task, so we're finally making progress. Not one of my favorite chapters, I must say, mostly because I'm putting so much into the next two, which are actually going to be the last two of the fic. I'm doing a handful of review replies at the bottom, but I thought I'd include this one up here so that I can set the record straight. You guys are wonderful.**

**Emma: I understand that you don't necessarily like the unoriginal dialogue, but I've explained in almost every chapter that this story is meant to give perspective, to allow room for what might have happened between those movie scenes. I just like putting some thoughts and feelings behind what we see on the screen, to allow for possibilities. You can refer to my author's note in the first few chapters to understand more.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP or any of its characters, they are all the lovely J.K. Rowling's.**

* * *

Hermione was a hypocrite...after all the times she had scoffed at Parvati and Lavender for being girlish imps, here she was, musing over which sounded better...Mrs. Hermione Weasley, Mrs. Fred Weasley, or just Hermione Weasley. Mrs. Weasley was of course a title already owned by Molly, and after all...Mrs. seemed like such a respectful term for someone meant to put up with Fred for the rest of their lives.

Good grief, what was she saying? Her patheticness was overbearing her logic! The truth of the matter was that above feeling hypocritical she was feeling guilty for devoting her daydreaming to Fred when Harry was in need of her intellect- the second task was hovering over everyone's anxiety like a thick fog. With her and Ron being on speaking terms again and Viktor being to preoccupied with Karkaroff's demands, Hermione felt as though the two lobes of her brain were battling between devoting her time to Fred's sudden ability to catch her alone and Harry's obvious loss for the golden egg's solution. It wasn't until Harry came jogging up to Hermione the day before the second task, his cheeks rosy with the fleeting winter breeze, and puffed,

"Hermione, I need you." Hermione rolled her eyes, holding her book to her chest and surveying the nearly vacant hall beside the Gryffindor Common Room entrance. Hurried footsteps followed in Harry's wake, and in seconds, the flushed face of Run peeked over Harry's shoulder.

"Trust me, Hermione, he means it." Ron glared down at the egg in Harry's hands as though it were a snake preparing to lunge, and Hermione offered a sigh before lifting a finger in the familiar direction...the library could be their only solution at this late in the game.

* * *

"Harry, tell me again." Why had Harry waited so long? Hermione had always known of Harry's stubbornness and procrastination (such traits ran thick in most boys' blood), but this...this was just madness, a life and death situation!

"Come and seek us where our voices sound..."

"The black lake, that's obvious." Hermione paced the small corner of the library, pausing to wake Ron, who was snoozing over the egg as though it were a beloved teddy bear. So Harry would have to go into the black lake...but for what?

"An hour long you'll have to look."

"Again, obvious, though I must admit...potentially problematic." That was an understatement and she knew it, but she was only hoping to tame Harry's nerves, which she knew were probably amidst mass-chaos at this point. But honestly, he had this coming to him...why had he shirked off his responsibilities like he would have one of Snape's assignments? Sure, Professor Snape's punishments were always to be feared, but this was much, much worse. Harry didn't enjoy the understatement, but instead of retorting as Hermione could have done to his sarcasm, she tried a different approach. "Look, Harry, we can do this, the three of us can figure it out." She would have liked to enveloped him in a sisterly hug to comfort his circled eyes and shadowed face, but Professor Moody (ever blessed with the gift of inconvenient timing), stepped into the messy corner of the library and surveyed the trio with his contorted face.

They were wanted in the office _now_? Surely Professor McGonagall could understand the importance of Harry having support right now...but Mad Eye wouldn't here it. His glassy eye twirled around in his head, whistling, until Hermione sighed and wished Harry good luck with a pained expression before she and Ron departed for the office. Their simultaneously clopping shoes against the marble sang in the uncertainty of their silence until Ron quietly said,

"He's doomed, isn't he?" Hermione gasped, nearly stopping to hit Ron upside his disheveled red head in their brisk pace.

"Ronald!" But even as her voice sang in scolding her tone faltered to that of sadness and panic. "Well...Harry'll be alright. He's been in worse positions...he just needs a little confidence." Ron turned his doubtful eyes to Hermione, thin lips poised in a bit of a frightened quirk.

"Confidence? What he needs is a bloody miracle!"

"And I doubt it would to him much good unless it was delivered fresh from the hands of the gods themselves." Hermione found the familiar impulse to grin like a banshee rose with the heat on her cheeks as the sound of Fred's voice drifted down the corridor. There he was, accompanied by Lee and George and holding his broomstick at his side...though the weather was still brisk and at time brutally windy, it was an improvement over the snow, and the boys were obviously anxious to get back into the air. Fred's hair was a testimony to the breeze as it stood in spread out tufts of red and drifted across his forehead in a way that would drive Molly Weasley to the edge, and to make matters worse, his white dress shirt was untucked and his tie worn loosely around his misshapen collar. Hermione took no notice of the other boys' attire, though if she had taken the time to look, she would have seen that the boys remained identical in their mischievous and whimsical ways.

"Always the more optimistic one, weren't you, Fred?" George inquired as he and Lee passed Hermione and Ron, the broomsticks held in their hands too tempting for conversation. Fred followed in tow, for just like Hermione he was still trying his best to keep what had evolved between them under wraps, though for her part it had become increasingly difficult. As Fred passed by her shoulder, his free hand ever so slightly brushed against hers and he dared to turn an eye towards her face, winking it and then continuing down the corridor as though never intervening with Hermione and Ron's conversation. Hermione bit her lower lip, worried she would flaunt a smile to reveal the choir of butterflies that had been singing in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Fred was actually beginning to get grouchy with all this secrecy building on his back- he could practically feel himself slouching under the eyes of George and Lee, even though he knew his friends' gazes were as innocent as ever. Innocent, hah. His point was proven. But amidst his brief wave of angst at passing Hermione and Ron in the corridor, Fred also felt curiosity- the note he had received under the table from Hermione that morning at breakfast had informed him that she and Ron would be helping Harry research for the remainder of the day...so why were they walking towards the offices?

"...Fred? 'Ello, Fred?" Ah, blast, Lee was speaking to him again. He'd really have to work on getting his mind off that bushy red head that was walking in the opposite direction. Fred shifty his eyes towards his two best mates, trying to appear less preoccupied and more nonchalant. Lee continued, his dark features returning to a posture of mischief over the impatience he had been expressing towards Fred's lack of attention. "I said, what do you think of the plan?"

"Plan. Right." Fred paused, musing as his tongue wound it's way along the inside of his cheek, tracing his gums absentmindedly. "The plans sounds brilliant." He had no idea what they were talking about.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell is our brother?" George bellowed through the common room, not caring of several first years squealing in panic and shifting off to the corridors as though they might find safety in numbers. Fred paced the room, his hands dug deep into his trouser pockets as he surveyed the now empty couches with dismay...the library had been empty, except for Neville and Harry, who had insisted Ron and Hermione had left hours ago and then continued discussing some absurdity called "pillyneed" or something of the sort. Now it was dusk and nearly curfew, and Ron and Hermione had yet to return, even though Harry had long since retired for the task tomorrow.

"Off snogging with Granger, I'll bet," Lee's snickering voice struck up from the desk in the corner. Fred chewed his lower lip, semi aggressively though he couldn't blame Lee for his assumptions. If there was any truth in his companion's words, Fred could only begin to list the ways he would make Ron feel a change of mind.

"He's not," The trio had hardly noticed Neville sliding in with a strange jar of greenish weed in his hands. The boy's trousers were hitched to his knees and crusted dry as though pasted that way from an afternoon wade in the lake, and his socks hung moistly around his white heels, in need of a wash. "They were both called to McGonagall office earlier, and they haven't been back since. They weren't even at dinner." With his final, rather bashful statement, Neville climbed the winding stairs to his chambers, the jar still clutched in his hands as though it were a precious teddy bear.

"Wonder what sort of trouble would merit an overnight stay in _her_ office." George mused, collapsing into an arm chair and propping up his feet on the table. Fred sat opposite to him, wondering the same thing and he laced his fingers through the front of his robe...it was a bit aggravating, really, to have so much affection for someone that they were constantly on your mind. It was like the Granger plague, itching, gnawing at him as though it were feeding on his mind and filling it with her. At the same time, the annoyance was countered with a fluttery, sickly feeling in the pit of his gut...wasn't that supposed to be a strictly female thing?

* * *

The following morning, the annoyance and the flutters had grown to a foul temper and a painful impatience. Not only could the twins and Ginny not locate Ron before the second task was due to start, but Hermione was also still missing in action, and the only person who seemed to know anything about their absence was Neville. Fred could barely even bring himself to bellow out advertisements for he and George's gambling campaign, and if not for George suspicious glances, he would have abandoned it all together. The brisk, gray chill of the winter's fading grasp clung to Fred's worn winter jacket and tugged at the hat clasped to his red head as he marched down the docks resting on the lake, his hands feeling raw under the bite of the breeze. The oddly constructed mobiles that hovered over the lake served as viewing structures to the second task, which judging by the swimming attire of the four champions would require a certain amount of underwater participation. Fred and George made room between less bold students on the first level of the mobile by shouldering and elbowing their way through the timid first and second years; Ginny followed in the wake of the parting crowd, obviously enjoying the feeling of power that the twins were sharing. Dumbledore bellowed as loud as always, marking the start of the task, and Fred screamed and hollered for Harry among the others as he dove- well- toppled into the lake. The twin let out a particularly loud whoop as Harry performed some sort of animalistic flip out of the water, but his mind continued to waver, and it was growing old.

It hadn't even occurred to him that the disappearance of Ron and Hermione might be linked to the task...not until Krum's shark head emerged from the water some forty minutes later, quickly morphing back into it's normal form his arms pulled Hermione to safety. Fred, though his mouth was screaming all sorts of war cries and cheers, was caught in a chilly grasp of jealousy...Hermione, Krum's most treasured possession...possession? No. Not at all. But that didn't change the fact that he treasured her enough to swim through an icy, dangerous lake to retrieve her- or was he just in it to win the task? A mix, perhaps, but either way...Fred was finding more and more reasons why this confounded attachment to Hermione was causing to be trouble...not that she wasn't worth it, but still. Could she really understand the mixed emotions coursing through him upon seeing Krum help lift her onto the platform, and then closing a towel around her shoulders to keep her warm? Fred felt himself bristling, his finger fighting to curl into a fist..._be sensible. _And odd voice insisted- if nothing else, Krum would likely beat him to a pulp...there was some other solution for this silent battle. A wicked grin lit Fred's face, not going unnoticed by George.

"What's got you so pleased?" George inquired, his face excited as though anticipating a new opportunity for trouble. Fred gnawed his lower lip, narrowing his eyes in thought as he continued to survey Krum fussing over Hermione from across the platform.

"I've got a little idea for our Bulgarian friend." Had Fred ever been one to act out of spite? His mischief was usually derived from pure amusement, until now. He tried to tell himself over and over that Krum had earned himself a bit of a kick for always being the center of attention and yet always remaining surly...but still...a small coat of guilt was beginning to rest on the twin's shoulder as his mind stirred up the possibilities for making Krum pay. Nothing dangerous, of course...it was all in good fun. _All in good fun._

* * *

Hermione hadn't known what to think or say when McGonagall had informed her that she and Ron would be temporarily "put under" to serve as goals for the second task...flattered, surprised, alarmed...the fact that Krum had opted for her as his most treasured possession erupted all three emotions at once. The last thing that she remembered before fading into a dazed, unconscious state was Dumbledore flicking his wand in front of her face...then her mind was taken into a strange phase of harmless dreams and visions. There, she saw Fred, and even though she knew it was a dream it was still pleasant to see his very likeness walking with her. The wake from her sleep was abrupt and freezing; her eyes opened just as her head broke the surface of the lake, and she gasped for air as though she had been holding it the entire hour underwater. She coughed and sputtered as she found herself being dragged towards a large structure holding dozens of hundreds of witches and wizards, and it was only then it occurred to her that Krum's arms were wrapped securely around her shoulders and hoisting her to safety. If she thought it had been cold in the water, it was colder getting out and being struck by the late winter/early spring breeze, but her chill subsided as Krum placed a heavy towel around her shaking shoulders.

"Th-thank you," she uttered, her face warm despite the chill that traced her veins. She lifted her eyes towards the surface of the water, her next thought of Ron and Harry, who both remained underwater. Krum's affection faded as he seemed to realize her anticipation for her friends, and Hermione didn't mind at all- she had no doubt that Fred was somewhere in the crowd, surveying the two with wary eyes. She couldn't blame him...she'd be doing the same if it were him and Angelina. Much to Hermione's relief, Harry, Ron, and a little girl that she recognized as Fleur's little sister broke the surface, and not a moment too late. Hermione let out a hoarse cheer, as her throat was aching under the strain of the cold...a nice, warm mug of butterbeer would do her nicely right about now. Maybe she'd catch up with Fred and they could make time for one later.

"Harry!" She was the first to greet her exhausted friend, a towel in hand that she quickly draped around his shoulders to warm him up. Harry, looking both waterlogged and freezing, returned a feeble greeting, and Hermione was so overwhelmed with gratitude for Harry's selfless behavior that she planted a kiss on his head and expressed her admiration.

"Are you alright? You must be freezing! Personally I think you behaved admirably." And if she knew Dumbledore at all, she knew he would think so as well. Sure enough, Harry was awarded extra points for what the wise, old professor referred to as "moral fiber", and the Gryffindor cheering section broke out into a din so loud Hermione was sure that the water on the lake rippled under impact.

"Harry!" Hermione's heart thudded in her chest at the sounds of the twins and Ginny approaching Harry from behind and enveloping him in monstrous hugs. George, having seen Hermione's light kiss, mockingly planted a kiss on the crown of Harry's head and let out a deafening cheer. Likewise, Fred wrapped his arms around the dripping Harry and hoisted him several inches off the ground as he fiercely hugged him, pretend ding to be tearing up under the emotion of the moment.

"Look how he's grown up, George," Fred swallowed, his eyes clenched shut as Harry struggled against his breath-taking grasp. George, playing along, held his face in his hands and shook his head in dismay.

"And to think, our little Harry might've drowned!"

"Honestly, you two sound like mum." Ron said, though an amused smile had found its way onto his freckled features. When Harry managed to pull away from Fred and George, a large, wet spot circled Fred's chest, which made the group laugh all the more.

"I'm up for a butterbeer!" Ginny suggested excitedly, mimicking Hermione's unspoken thoughts. With no argument, the group was guided towards a boat that carried them back across the icy lake to the docks. Fred and George took up the rear of the boat, just behind Hermione and Ginny, who were just behind Ron and the still shivering Harry. Ron seemed to have taken on an oddly cloud-nine aura after his brief run-in with Fleur, but Hermione was far less fluttery about Krum's affection, much to Fred pleasure. As the water sloshed against the rim of the heavy boat, Fred took the opportunity to lean forward and lace up his shoes so that his chin was practically at Hermione's back.

"Enjoy your swim, did we?" His voice was not heavy with sarcasm...rather, or so it seemed to Hermione as she altered her sitting position just the slightest so that she could view him from the corner of her eye, he was acting sulky, and perhaps a bit dejected. Hermione had to bite her lower lip to fight the smile of surrender- Fred was jealous of Krum, again! What was it with boys and their pride?

"You know I can't resist a good, icy dip in my robes, Fred."

"Ah, getting a little smart, are we?" Fred's voice lost its sulkiness and gained a irreversible tone of satisfaction in Hermione's playful attitude. Maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all.

Moments later, the group was climbing and clamoring from the little boat, which swayed under their weight and nearly capsized when Ron's sopping robe snagged the corner and pulled it at a sharp angle. Fred instinctively grabbed a hold of the swaying Hermione, his hands on the backs of her elbows, and steadied her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, her red ears not going unnoticed by the beaming Fred as they made their way onto dry land. The brief gesture hadn't gone unnoticed by George, much to Fred's dismay. The other twin was watching the two's interaction with the slightest gleam of realization glinting in his identical eyes, and his mouth quirked into the slightest smirk of wonder. His head turned back and forth between Fred and Hermione with a dawning expression overtaking his entire being in such a way that Fred thought for a moment he might make a verbal comment to reveal his discovery. Fred caught his brother's eye, alarmed to see the understanding, and made a pleading gesture with his hands so that no one else could see. George paused,his eyes thoughtful, and finally nodded slowly as though agreeing to something he couldn't truly understand...but then, how could he? Fred was still at a loss for how the attraction had begun and continued.How could he have been so thick to as let George see his affection for Hermione? Sure, he trusted George more than he trusted...well..._anyone_, but that didn't mean that this wouldn't complicate things quite a bit. The more people knew about Fred and Hermione, the more uneasy Fred became.

"I feel as though I've been hit by a train," Harry thought out loud, breaking the silence of the group around him. The group chuckled as Fred and George silently maintained their silent exchange, and it wasn't for a few seconds yet that George broke the gaze between him and his brother. However, his eyes remained to say that they would discuss the situation later, when they could drop all barriers.

"Of course. Heroism is exhausting."

"All that moral fiber, eh?" Fred pitched in, his voice having lost a great deal of its perk in revealing his feelings for Hermione to his twin. Harry was being beckoned by Barty Crouch, so the remainder of the group turned off onto a trail that would lead them right into the belly of Hogwarts- the quickest route to the largest fireplaces. Plus, butterbeer would be served in great quantities in the great hall, and if they hurried, they could beat the crowd. Strangely, as cold as Fred still felt, he had lost all his appetite.

* * *

"Mm," Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat, her eyes closed as she rested the steaming mug against her lower lip and breathed in deep. "I don't believe I've ever had a better cup of butterbeer." Ginny, Ron, and the twins heartily agreed with her, though they seemed much too anxious to gulp theirs down than to respond at length. Hermione sighed and took another deep sip; the liquid hardly mingled in her mouth before sliding down her throat, and yet its vivid taste danced in Hermione's senses as she felt it rest in her empty stomach. What would really be nice would be having a thick slice of pumpkin pie to accompany the drink- no- it was nearing on spring...apple pie sounded better.

"Well, ladies," George's voice addressed not only Ginny and Hermione, but Ron and Fred as well. "What plans do you have for the night?" Hermione shrugged, feeling a tinge of gratitude that she had finished her homework so early on in the week...of course, there was that report due in two weeks time that she could always gather research for, but oddly enough she found herself without the desire to indulge herself in her studies.

"I promised Neville I'd keep him company at the lake," Ginny mumbled, her cheeks taking on a tinge of red as she stared at her hands in her lap. Apparently,the twinsfound itless worthwhileto tease Ginny than Ron, because they mentioned nothing about their sister's evening plans and even offered her a few encouraging winks across the table. Hermione found herself warming within, and this time not because of the butterbeer...Fred could be such a darling when he really, really tried. Could she tell him that though? Their relationship had certainly not developed to anything official, and they had yet to regain any serious physical and verbal dependence...which might be for the better. For now, Hermione was content in inwardly smiling at her affectionate thoughts and flashing a brief smile towards him before returning her attention to her butterbeer.

"Me and Fred were thinking that you could never have too many celebrations-"

"-and what better excuse than having our Harry win over and over again?"

"So we ducked down into the kitchen and it seems the house-elves are always prepared for one-"

"-because they put together a whole mass of treats for Gryffindor!"

"I suspect they're up there, unloading it all now while we're all down here."

"Thoughtful things, eh?"

"Always."

"You two!" Hermione chided, slamming down her palm on the table to interrupt the twins' dialogue. "Those poor creatures are probably loaded with dozens of duties, and here you have them conned into serving you." She pushed back her bench from the lengthy table lined with students, straightened her robes, and picked up her things as she hotly addressed only Ginny. "Ginny, I'll be in the girl's quarters, if you need me." Honestly, if Fred couldn't be mature enough to be thoughtful for all creatures, maybe he wasn't her type anyways. Hermione secretly denied that creeping thought as she walked straight-backed from the great hall with the butterbeer still sloshing in her empty stomach…apple pie would have to wait.

* * *

She'd done it again…finished the report in a few hours time when she had only meant to begin research for it. Hermione briefed over the twelve-inch parchment in her hands, amazed that her response had dictated so well when she had been sure she wouldn't be able to concentrate on her duties. She sighed and glanced around- nearing curfew, and none of the other Gryffindor girls had stepped into the sleeping chambers yet. Typical. There was probably a rowdy gala taking place down in the common rooms right this instant, while she was glancing around and realizing she would have no homework to do till the end of the month. Pathetic. First for being so hypnotized by Fred, and then for trying so hard to be angry at him so that she could erase her hypnotism. Why couldn't she just take things in stride, as he seemed so obviously able to do?

"Cuddling with your books again, Hermione?" Hermione thought her heart would leap out of her chest at the sound of the husky voice common from the doorframe. She rolled backwards off her bed and hit the floor knees first, peeking up over her comforters in alarm. How on earth had Fred managed to get up here? There he was, surveying the female chambers as though they were nothing new. He had abandoned his Hogwarts robes and wore his frumpy "F" sweater from his mum, but the sleeves were folded up to his elbows so that his hands could be dug deep into the pockets of his faded brown trousers. His smile suggested pride in having startled Hermione, and the ever-present glow of mischief warmed his grin to the point hilarity.

"Fred!" Hermione's voice came out in a shrill squeak, and her hands began to obsessively rub down her bushy hair that she had tossed carelessly during her studying. "How did you…what are you….get out, get out now! You shouldn't be up here! What if I had been…well…just go!"

"Been what? Naked? I thought of that already. That's why I knocked on the doorframe…apparently, you were too busy making love to your studies to hear me." Fred shrugged, meandering across the room and surveying the parchment, ink, and books piled high around Hermione's neatly made bed. Hermione, finally gulping down her thundering heart, came to her feet bashfully. She had switched over into her pajamas, which were a modest pair of scarlet and gold flannel pants and a matching, button up top. They weren't overly embarrassing, but Hermione still found herself turning pink under Fred's amused stare.

"They're from my mum and dad. For Christmas."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Fred made himself at home by sitting down on Lavenders bed and propping his feet up on her nightstand. Hermione remained on her feet with her eyes constantly wavering towards the door, as though terrified a professor might barge in with their wand extended and their hands fumbling for detention slips.

"Fred, really. How did you get up here? The stairwell is jinxed so that any male that tries to climb them without the proper incantations will-"

"-I know, I know, be propelled back across the common room and find themselves mortally terrified of females for days to come. Happened to me and George once before we learned the secret." Fred proudly leaned back onto his elbows, his red bangs falling into his eyes. His smile said that he was dying for Hermione to ask what the secret was, but the bright young lass wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.

"I see. So you've been up to visit girls before?"

"Only for pranks. You're the only one fortunate enough to receive an actual visit." His large wink made Hermione's cheeks warm again, and she finally settled down enough to sit on her bed and return a small yet nervous smile. A moment of silence lapsed in which they stared each other down awkwardly before Fred continued, "Just so you know…Krum…well…you should probably keep away from him for a few days." Hermione's back stiffened as she surveyed Fred- well! This certainly was an odd way for Fred to tell her that he was jealous. It sounded more like a suggestion than anything, which made Hermione think that maybe...oh...Fred wouldn't...would he?

"Fred- what did you do to him?" The look that held a share of shame and contentment crossed Fred's features, affirming Hermione's fears. It was the same look that always reached the twins' faces when their mother was both furious and amazed at one of their new discoveries...but Hermione was not his mother, and as of yet, she was _not_ his girlfriend.

"Nothing permanent, no need to worry your pretty little-"

"Fred." Hermione's tone left no room for games as she left her bed and stepped in front of the relaxing Weasley with her arms resting over her chest crossly. Fred's face flashed in an uncertain fashion before he came up off his elbows, cleared his throats, and said so quickly that Hermione could hardly catch his words,

"Weputanounceofflagrantpotioninhisbutterbeer."

"You put an ounce of...of..._flagrant_ potion in his drink?" Hermione wondered briefly if this was a Weasley twin invention before the furthestmost part of her brain seemed to latch hold of a tiny grain of wisdom. Flagrant potion...similar symptoms of love potions, only the drinker does not focus on one target...for a matter of days (depending on the dose)- the drinker would love, well, everyone!

Hermione couldn't find the sense to control herself as her hand drew back into a fist, just as it had once done for Malfoy, and then flew forward towards Fred's face. Though her eyes had instinctively clutched shut, the impact on her fist and the thud/slap of flesh and bone on flesh and bone assured her that her punch had hit home. What could not be explained was the aweful sound that immediately followed the punch: a grunt, a squeal of mattress springs, and then a loud crash. Hermione opened her eyes with her arm still outstretched, remorse overcoming her...there was no satisfaction in that punch as there had been in the one that had sunk Malfoy's nose. Fred was no where to be seen, though Lavender's comforter was tossed and turned and half pulled off the opposite side of the bed. Hermione lept onto the mattress, seeing a socked foot peeking up over the edge. Sure enough, Fred Weasley lay sprawled on his back, holding his hand to a bloody nose and moaning under his breath. Despite her regret, Hermione felt a certain amount of pride- she had flipped the idiot backwards, right off of the bed!

"Woman!" Fred groaned, his voice muffled by the hand cupped over his face. "I'd like to know what the bloody hell I deserved that for!" Hermione held her face in both her hands in complete bewilderment- what had she done that for? Whatever it was, it seemed completely unimportant now in comparison to the fact she had just floored the bloke she had finally admitted she was absolutely smitten with.

"Fred, hang on, I'm sorry, oh!" She huffed her stray brown curls from her face and climbed over the bed, crouching beside him in a pitiful attempt to help him to his feet. With his free arm, Fred pushed himself from the floor though remained doubled over with rich scarlet warmth dripping down the front of his sweater. Hermione watched as the twin looked back and forth between his bloody hands, Hermione, and the dishevelled bedding. After a long moment, he began to laugh, shaking his head in surrender.

"It just doesn't seem possible, does it?" He asked, his voice far more sorrowful than his laugh. The bewildered Hermione could only stare at him as she began to adjust Lavender's bed, knowing a nose bleed was something that Fred was probably more accustomed to treating than she was. Fred watched her for a moment, having to continually run the back of his hand under his nose so as to free his mouth. "For us to manage this couple thing, does it?"

Hermione gave up on fixing the bed and sat down, suddenly feeling heavy. What did Fred mean? After all the trauma they had already came through, couldn't they take a bit of difference? She sighed, realizing that no matter the compromise, there would be points in which they could never find a place of peace. The problem was deciding whether or not they could cope with the constant disruption of difference. "I'm sorry, Fred. Maybe you should just go...I'm sure the girls will be coming up soon."

Obviously disappointed by her response, Fred nodded slowly, looking to the stairwell. For once, Hermione could not guess the thoughts that were running through the mischief maker's red head, and for once, Hermione found that she was grateful. Before she could further encourage his exit, Fred turned back to Hermione, stooped over from his height, and gave her a soft and prolonged peck on the head before his nose began to drip again.

"Right." He stood awkwardly, chosing to ignore the pinkness that had inhabited Hermione's fair skin. "Just thought I'd warn you that if you kiss Krum before Tuesday, it might be contagious." And with that, Fred scrambled for the door to avoid the shoe that Hermione had thrown at his back with an angered cry of exasperation.

* * *

**Ta-dah! I felt that at points in this chapter, I wiggled out of Fred's character, so hopefully I can get back into the groove before the fic's end. Now, for some long post-poned responses...R&R, and as always, thank you!**

Titflo- I know, my chapters kinda get lengthy, don't they? I'm glad you think it's worth the wait, it means much!

LondonGirl27- Yay! My favorite reader! And guess what? The Obidala fic is almost done. And even in its unfinished

state, it's longer than this chapter was!

avchocaholic- Yeah, I was going to have more romance, but then I decided that it really didn't make much sense since the

point of the flashback was to show a little more of what might have led up to the eventual romance.

Mikami- Aw, thanks! I try really hard to make it both interesting and worthwhile, it's probably the reason I take sooo long

to get chapters out...I won't write unless I feel it's going to be something enjoyable all around.

bittersweetepiphany- Well, sort of. Obviously, they can't be really "together" because of the situation with Ron, Krum,

and pretty much everyone...all the complications, ya know? But we'll see what happens. ;)

Kay to the Gee- I know! I'm sooo excited about writing that, it has such great dramatic potential.


	10. Hermione's Bollocks

**Author's Note: One more chapter to go after this...so this one and the next one will both be very, very long. Hopefully you all won't mind. I'm getting increasingly sad of thinking about reaching the end of this as it's been so fun, but rumors have it that the next movie is coming out in July of next year...that's only one year away...only...-sigh- I'm half tempted to go from the book, but I know I'll regret it if there's good material from the Order of the Pheonix film. How many of you want to read another Fred and Hermione fic, anyways? I've lost a bit of support in this last chapter, since it took so long to submit. My fault. Anyways, moving on, hopefully you won't hate me for this chapter. I tried to be fair to Krum and not make him the antagonist, and there wasn't a lot of Weasley-twin goofiness towards the end, but there had to be something signifigantly big for me to start closing out with. Cheers, and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: All HP characters and ideas belong to JK Rowling.**

* * *

Despite the fact that he and Hermione had parted on semi-shaky terms, Fred couldn't help but find himself in an irreversibly giddy stupor. It seemed that whatever bitterness and jealousy had been steering his mood for the past few days had entirely evaporated and left the old Fred beaming with explosive mischief and laughter. Even the swollen nose that he refused to explain couldn't damper his spirits, and the fact that Krum was walking around wooing everyone woman in sight added to the Weasley boy's ecstasy. 

"Fred," Lee asked seriously over lunch no more than a week after the incident in the girls' chambers. Fred glanced up, his cheeks bulging full of soup. "Seriously, mate, have you been sneaking something into your pumpkin juice you're not telling me about, eh? Taking a leaf out of Mad Eye's book?" Fred nearly choked on the soup as he fought laughter in his throat; as he swallowed the mouthful down in one gulp, his eyes watered over from the warm liquid and he sputtered to control both his coughing and laughter. George and Lee quickly joined in his laughter as they surveyed their friend hopelessly fighting to control his fit.

"Whatever he's taking from Moody, it's no leaf." George snickered, catching a glimpse of the rugged professor raising his flask to his lips as though desperate for a drink. Fred pat himself on the back (with difficulty) and shook his red hair out of his face to respond to his friends' playful banter, though he couldn't honestly give an account of what had him so jovial. What would he say? _Well, Hermione Granger bloodied my nose, and I think I'm in love._ The mention of Hermione's name would be enough to send Lee and George into fits, even with George's discovery of the truth. Honestly, Fred's twin had taken it very well...so to speak. George had paced back and forth in front of Fred, first frantic for some sort of explanation, then desperate to convince himself there had been some sort of mistake. After he realized that Fred was as serious about Hermione as possible for his rarely-serious brother, he quickly calmed himself and swore up and down that no one would no about the couple's secrets, if for no other reason than the fact that George couldn't bare to ruin the twins' reputations. The conversation between the brothers had ended with a brutal wrestling match, all in good fun, even if it did result in a few bruises to accommodate the boys.

"I've had a bit of an epiphany, boys," Fred admitted after a moment. He nodded towards the Bulgarians, who seemed to have made habit of dining with the sinister Slytherins. "I've just come to the realization that there's nothing more I enjoy than a bit of fun in the face of evil." George and Lee followed his gaze and then broke out into identical grins, more than glad to have rid themselves of the sulky Fred that had been present the week before.

"And what were the details of this epiphany, dear brother?" George asked, leaning in over the table so that his untucked tie nearly dipped into his dinner carelessly. Fred and Lee simultaneously followed in suit, though Lee took a moment to toss his tie over his shoulder in seeing Fred's hover dangerously close to his soup.

"Well...there aren't really any details yet. I just know that when I reach them, I'd like for them to be the cleverest of all clever misadventures." Not exactly mature reasoning, but good enough for George and Lee's tastes.

"Ah, the wickedest of all wicked schemes?" George added, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger as though musing the possibilities at hand.

"Nay, the most twisted of all twisted ideas!" The twins were on a roll now and quite unaware that their voices were beginning to carry down the Gryffindor table. Alarmed first years begin to whisper behind closed hands; even seven months into the school year, they still weren't brave enough to question the Weasley twins' intentions. Lee slammed his fist onto the table for affect, jumping to his feet and lamely adding,

"The brilliantest of all brilliant...things!"

The twins stared at him dryly before sniggering, each grabbing hold of one of Lee's sleeves and yanking him back down onto his rear.

"Not your strongest argument." George sympathized, shooting glares at anyone else who had joined in on their private laughter...only he and Fred had the right to brutalize their companion.

"That one will go down in the record books of the most unbrilliantest of all Hogwarts quotes." Fred agreed. Lee landed a punch on his arm that would surely leave a mark, muttering with humiliation as he focused his intention on his soup. "Anyways. Things are getting dull now that the second task is over...I'm craving a bit of a flare in our dull agenda."

"Quite." George nodded enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up as though struck with a true epiphany. Cautiously looking over both his shoulders to assure himself that all the attention they had gathered had dispensed, he lowered his voice an octave and asked his partners in crime, "How's our stock of Canary Creams?"

* * *

"Those look dreadful, Harry. Are you sure you're taking Madame Pomfrey's suggested dose?" Hermione fretted, catching a glimpse of Harry's wounds on his neck as her friend adjusted the collar of his dress shirt. Since the second task, Harry had been very sore with the marks left from the underwater creatures, but nothing compared to the complaints he had against the terrible potion he was assigned to drink twice a day. Harry's green eyes narrowed over to Hermione, willing her not to pester him about his foul treatment...not today. Hermione couldn't blame him: the air was tender with the first hint of spring, as though the chill had chosen to take a short-lived break and allow the students a day of outdoor fun. Rich, sunny splendor soaked the Hogwarts hills, making the grass seem richer and fuller than the days before. Though crisp, gray clouds hovered to the west, the threat of rain seemed distant in comparison to the full and ripe sun overhead. 

"Lay off, Hermione," Ron insisted, leaning back on his elbows in the grassland mirroring fashion that reminded Hermione of the twins. "Harry's earned himself a break...oi, look at that!" Ron sprung off his elbows and came to his feet, placing his hand against his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. Hermione and Harry's heads jerked to follow his gaze, seeing that the Bulgarian ship was circling the lake...odd, considering it had been anchored since the start of the term.

"What do you suppose?..." Hermione mumbled. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Viktor since a few days after the second task, and that had been so brief that she had barely had a moment to thank him again for his courtesy and rescue. True to his word, Fred and George's flagrant potion had been potent enough to leave Krum chasing other girls for days...on one hand, Hermione was grateful, but at the same time, dreadfully annoyed. Whether or not Fred had her affections, that did not justify him to practically attack other people out of jealousy. Honestly, testosterone was really pathetic.

"Maybe just stretching their legs." Harry shrugged, his tone suggesting that he wasn't nearly as excited as Ron was to see the ship make its rounds. "I'd love to see the deck of that thing."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Viktor had been most descriptive of the ship when Hermione had asked, and supposedly, it had been built in the late 1700s by a Warlock that enchanted it with all sorts of self-propelling charms and hexes. The Bulgarians were really fortunate to be sailing aboard a piece of history, but then again, Hogwarts students were _living_ on a piece of history. Something that Hermione had come to realize about the Wizarding world, something that she couldn't have necessarily learned from books, was that everything was extremely old and historical. Practically everything had a background so intricate that-

"Shh, wait, wait, who's that?"

"It's just Harry and them. Knock it off. Keep going." Hermione's head swiveled to see Fred, George, and Lee walking along the water's edge with their hands tucked inside of their robes as though hiding something. Harry and Ron chose to ignore them, chalking their behavior off as twin-typical, but Hermione credited herself for knowing that by the way Fred carried himself, he was up to something he didn't want anyone else to know about.

"Hey, you lot!" She called over to them, walking down the slope of the grassy hill to intercept the creeping trio. Three sets of mock-innocent eyes turned to her briefly before looking away, as though worried Hermione would see something there that would reveal their secrets. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed...wait, why hadn't Harry and Ron followed her? This wasn't her being a do-gooder, this was her seeing something she had to prevent for the good of all of them! Honestly, what she wouldn't give for some support from those two every now and then. "What are you doing? What's that beneath your robes? Stop walking, stop!"

Fred was the only one who stopped to turn to her, but because he was in front of their single-file line, Lee and George were forced to stop as well. "Yes?" He asked cautiously, not forgetting the force of her punch nor the softness of her hair beneath his kiss.

"You heard me. What are you up to?"

"Just taking a stroll. Care to join?"

"Fred!"

"Bloody hell." George and Lee glared at their companion, and though George knew the reason behind Fred's invitation, he was no less incensed. Hermione would betray them for sure, and if Fred didn't know that, then she was certainly wielding some brain-washing affect over him. Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously...she didn't care whether or not she was invited along, she knew perfectly well that wouldn't stop Fred from causing absolute chaos when there was fun to be had.

"Where are you going?"

"The Bulgarian ship."

"What!" Hermione asked, alarmed. Surely they didn't mean to sneak on board that craft, it was probably guarded by a dozen of intricate and complex spells that only a powerful and well-versed wizard could break with hours to-

"Don't make a fuss about it, we've been invited by Karkaroff himself." Fred told her with a satisfied and amused expression. Hermione gaped for a moment, astounded and unsure whether or not she could allow herself to believe such a far-fetched claim. She doubted that Karkaroff even knew who the twins were, unless he had heard about the incident between them and the aging line at the start of the tournament.

"Hermione, we're going in, save you a spot?" Ron called. He and Harry were packing up their things from their lounge spot on the hillside, looking hungrily towards the castle, where smoke was issuing out of the kitchen chimneys. Hermione waved her response and then returned her attention to the boys, who had begun walking again.

"You must be joking."

"Nope," Fred shook his head, tossing his red bangs as he did so. "Karkaroff got wind of our lovely assortment of sweets and treats and thought to reward his students, mainly Krum, with a bit of a treat. Nice guy, eh?"

"_Fred_!"

"Blimey!" George and Lee were incensed again. Now that their secret was unmasked, they pulled out boxes of sweets from beneath their robes, shooting daggers at Hermione as though she had in some manner corrupted their mate. Hermione stepped closer to them, planning on looking at the treats individually, but George yanked his box out of her sight.

"Those are one of your prank candies, aren't they?" Hermione demanded. What else would they be? The twins didn't produce anything that wasn't for some ill purpose, it was just the way their minds worked! Fred's foot caught on a bit of mud and he nearly slipped, but after regaining his composure he smoothly replied,

"I don't know, want to try one?"

"I most certainly do not. Fred," Hermione lowered her voice, trying to reason with the boy she knew better than the rest. "Don't do this. You could get into so much trouble for this, and besides, if this is about getting Viktor back, you've certainly outdone yourself." Fred instantaneously took on a less polite demeanor, his eyes narrowing and his jaw snapping closed as though Hermione had said some sort of magical word to cause his disproval. Hermione shut her eyes briefly, scolding herself. Not the best choice of words.

"Well, Granger," Hermione winced at his insincerity. "We're going aboard the ship, and you can come as our guest, or try to warn _Viktor_. I don't care. But as long as you know that you'd be walking aboard a floating piece of history, you're welcome to stay here." What, had he been reading her mind? The way Fred looked down at her when he spoke suggested he knew just how badly she wanted to see the inside of the ship...maybe if she waited, Viktor would invite her on board anyways...no...she wouldn't take advantage of Krum like that. They were friends with no benefits.

"Fine. But only to keep an eye on you three." Hermione consented, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. Fred appeared satisfied yet still slightly disgruntled, and George and Lee shot her despairing glances as they walked towards the docks that had been crafted especially for the Bulgarian vesicle. As they approached, Hermione fell into line right beside Fred and even offered to carry one of the boxes for him, much to the trio's surprise. Fred handed one over, and his fingers gently brushed Hermione's for a lingering moment that made thunder coarse throughout his veins...god, why did she do this to him?

The ship was much, much larger than it appeared from the castle. Hermione could easily see that it was close to the length of the great hall, and she was willing to bet her favorite volumes of books that there was an enlargement charm so that the innards of the ship were actually more spacious than it appeared possible. As they reached the ends of the docks and awaited for the gangplank to be lowered, Fred shifted his weight nervously. Maybe it was because Hermione was here, but either way, he suddenly felt unsure about this plan, which was quite unlike him. He kept seeing a dozen angry Bulgarians realizing they had been tricked into turning into birds, and then pounding him until he begged for death...exciting, adventures...but worth it?

Absolutely. The uncertainty dissipated as the dock vibrated with the landing of the plank against the wooden boards. George and Lee ascended the plank, bellowing out greetings to familiar (though not necessarily friendly) faces and not even realizing that Fred and Hermione lingered behind.

"Whatever happens in there," Fred's tone took on a mocking persona of a heroic, romantic figure. "Don't worry about me. Just run." Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, half-tempted to chuck the box in her arms over the side of the dock and leave Fred to his pathetic games...a second half of her, however, pleaded that she participate in this bit of fun, if for nothing else than to see the bowels of the magnificent ship. She placed her hand in the crook of Fred's arm and allowed him to escort her up the plank, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched by a confused pair of Bulgarian eyes.

* * *

Krum watched from the porthole of his chambers, having been woken from his dozing by the sound of Hermione's charming voice floating in from the dock. When he came to his feet, he saw the Weasley boy- he could hardly remember which one- glancing at her with a soft and playful expression, and then accepting Hermione's hand to help her on board. Krum had been worried about this ever since he allowed the reality of his feelings for the beautiful girl sink in...of course there would be others at Hogwarts that liked her, who couldn't like her? She was perfect. Smart, beautiful, bold...she'd make a great wife...of course, that was a long while off, but for right now, he considered himself sincerely smitten by her. He had been shocked to learn she wasn't very popular at her school...but now...it all made sense. This rash young boy obviously thought he had the right to Hermione's heart, just as Krum assumed that he had. How different were Bulgaria and England? Back home, Krum would have dueled with this red-head for Hermione's hand, but here, customs may be different. Not to mention, Krum was still a gentleman, and he'd let the choice be Hermione's...but as long as she didn't have an objections...Krum would gladly pound this gangly boy to be the only man in Hermione's life. Gladly.

* * *

George, Lee, and Fred barely had time to get aboard the ship before they were swarmed by excited Bulgarian students, all taking the canary creams by hand and eating them before even walking away. This had not been in the original plan...the boys had hoped they could leave the boxes, look around, and leave before trouble set in. Fred even tried to angle the box of treats away from the gathering students, his eyes finding George's in a momentary flash of panic...they hadn't anticipated this, their pranks hardly ever took a turn for the worst (unless their mum was involved).But as one burly student burst into a ball of yellow feathers, they knew that their plan had not been executed particularly well, and they knew they were doomed. The Bulgarian students all paused with their half-eaten Canary Creams in their hands and surveyed their peer with confusion, suspicion, and pure dumb-foundedness riddled on their faces...then, one by one, they exploded into puffs of tiny round feathers, tweeting in an unnaturally loud manner. George, Lee, and Fred nearly collapsed in laughter before they remembered that not all of the Bulgarians had gotten their hands on a Canary Cream, and the ones that had were sampling a very temporary charm. 

The trio all turned towards the gangplank and found it guarded by three burly Bulgarians who still managed to look threatening in their confused demeanor. Seconds passed, and a sequel round of popping occurred to summon that the hexed Bulgarians were returning to their native form. Fred and George simultaneously muttered vulgar curses in undertones, and though Lee had never claimed to be religious, a swift prayer left his lips and he even crossed himself for good measure. They were doomed.

"Well...yellow is certainly your color, my very large...muscular...friend..." George said with a laugh as a particularly pestered looking student that was malting lemon toned feathers approached threateningly. Within moments, the group was surrounded by yellow human-birds, and if not for the danger of the situation it would have been hilarious. Lee cowered behind the twins, who appeared rather excited for a brawl, and Hermione...wait...Fred glanced around, near panicked as he realized that the girl had left his arm as soon as they ascended the ship. Where was Hermione? Surely they wouldn't hurt a girl...but Krum...Krum had to be around here somewhere. No doubt he had whisked Hermione off and left his classmates to thump the trio, Fred fumed, unaware that he was now being pressed into a back-to-back triangle with his two friends. His wand was outstretched in his hand towards no one in particular, and amazingly, it was steady. Maybe if a brawl broke out, he could break away just long enough to tell Hermione to get off the ship...oddly enough, he had been serious earlier when he had told her to get off the ship if there was trouble. The suggestion just seemed so silly that Fred had played it off mockingly to ease his embarrassment- but what did that matter now? The Bulgarians were about to beat any feeling left in him out. Embarrassment was the least of his worries.

"Vat is dis?" Another student asked, overturning a box of the canary creams as his hands began to resemble wings. Amidst all the chaos, Fred couldn't help but snort, and he was relieved to hear laughter coming from his brother as well. At least they had gotten their kicks.

"Don't worry, boys, it'll fade." A syrupy voice assured the Bulgarians, and Fred's fingers wound into a fist. Malfoy, followed by a few other Slytherins, had obviously been allowed to make himself at home aboard the ship, and judging by the satisfied expression on the pale boy's sharp features, his connections were paying off. Four of the green and white clad students were lounging about on awkward looking furnishings that covered the deck, obviously mobile so that they could be removed when the ship plunged under the water's surface.

"Piss off, Malfoy," George fumed, as enraged as Fred was that the Slytherins were getting involved in this mess...it wasn't as though the twins and Lee weren't outnumbered already, but with the Slytherins around to encourage violence, it was over a dozen against three. He made a mental note to beat up the rat-nosed twit when he could catch him on their own grounds...little wonder why Ron had always hated the kid with such a passion. The Slytherins only laughed at the twins, whispering to their Bulgarian friends (some of which still largely resembled birds) in a plotting fashion; their narrowed eyes kept glancing over to the three as though surveying prey, but their mouths talked animatedly to the anxious Bulgarians. This couldn't be good...Fred and George, the masters of plotting, knew trouble when they saw it. The trio barely had time to react before they were being lunged at by a few Slytherins and Bulgarians a piece. Fred blindly threw out his fists and feet, catching a couple of his enemies but not altogether saving himself- it was a miracle he could keep his wand in his hand during it all. He, George, and Lee, were hoisted over top of the others' heads in some sort of mock-tribal fashion, and the students beneath them jeered and cheered at their own dull cleverness. The crowd reached the edge of the ship, and Fred suddenly knew what awaited him and his comrades...he felt a sudden jar of movement beneath him, and then found himself looking down sixty feet into the aqua gray lake. Wind whipped against his clothes as he was hoisted over the side along with George and Lee, and in the seconds he had to prepare himself against the fall, he hardly remembered to take a deep breath. Icy coldness washed over his body and made his clothes paste against his skin, which tingled with the slap of the water against his side and legs. Barely able to make sense of the situation, Fred kicked up and used his hands to claw for air, gasping in relief when his head broke the surface. He took a second to push his sopping red hair from his eyes to see that George and Lee had come up just before him and were already swimming away from the ship with such speed that Fred had to wonder if something else was wrong...besides the fact that they had just been hoisted overboard into a potentially dangerous lake, of course. Before he could ask, George glanced over his stroking shoulder and called,

"The boat's leaving dock!" To reinforce his words, the boat behind the boys groaned and lurched, preparing to set out into the lake and more than likely to churn the boys under with the water. Fred yelped and stroked along side of this friends until his arms burned and ached and his chest screamed for mercy, barely hearing the sound of laughter and jeering coming from the ship overhead...by the time the boys reached safety, not only were they exhausted and infuriated, but they were humiliated and crushed. Fred collapsed on the grassy safeness of the Hogwarts grounds, sprawled out as though flattened and breathing so heavily that he could see his chest rise below his chin. Had his breathing been quieter, he would have heard that Lee and George were gasping just as deeply as he was, only George could still find the capacity to curse every-other-breath. To the trio, this was failure. In his devastation, Fred barely had the sense to wonder what had become of Hermione in all the chaos...

* * *

Hermione had left the boys to deal out their candies as she was entirely in awe of the ship around her...everything about it...the scent of the wood, the shape of the windows, the sound of the planks beneath her dress shoes...Fred would catch up, she'd just take a peak down the stairwell just to her left, maybe catch a glimpse of the dining deck, and then they could leave before disaster struck (which it would). If she had waited just a moment more before closing the door behind her, she would have heard the first angry proclamation of the Bulgarians as the canary creams took affect. 

"Amazing," Hermione muttered to herself, her eyes capturing the paintings that lined the stairwell of world renowned professors and headmasters. So enamored was she with the history she was wading in that she hardly noticed the cheering overhead, and just excused it for the boys hamming up their presence and soaking in the attention...she was also so entranced that she nearly missed the creaking of the ship all around her. Entranced as she was, however, she could not miss the massive lurching of the boat as it pulled into motion against the lake- they were leaving dock! She gasped, only comforted by the thought that Fred would not possibly leave her on a strange ship alone...just in case, however, she sprinted up the stairwell. The paintings that moments ago seemed beautiful now appeared to be sneering at her in amusement..._please...please...please don't let them be gone_...

She slammed open the door and slid onto the dock with the motion of the ship, noting the feathers laying loosely around the deck. Nearly a dozen Bulgarians mingling with Slytherins were standing along side of the rail to her right, but there was no sign of Lee, George, or Fred. Surely he hadn't...he wouldn't have...

"Granger, when did you get here?" Draco had spotted her, his grin devilishly sinister as he took in her panicked appearance. It didn't take a stroke of genius for him to guess why she was so disarrayed, and he fed upon her fear with his lies. "Didn't leave with your friends, eh?" The panic in Hermione's being multiplied.

"They...they left?" She could care less that she was asking this of Malfoy, Hogwarts largest liar. All she knew was that he had just said Fred had left the ship...without her...and now she was out on the lake, away from Hogwarts, and it was nearing curfew. The sun was beginning to kiss the tops of the trees of the forbidden forest and deal out shadows across the edge of the lake- soon, it would be night, and the lake would be as dark as the moonless night sky that promised to envelope the stars with it's abstract clouds.

"Yeah, a bit ago, actually. They heard the ship was taking off and didn't want to stick around."

"Of all the...why would they...I should've..." Hermione felt dangerously close to allowing the warm moisture springing to her eyes pour out in an expression of her fear and disappointment. Perhaps Fred wasn't trustworthy, after all...after these months of finally convincing herself that she could be with someone like him, she had now come to the opposite conclusion in a matter of seconds. She was feeling heartbreak, standing alone on the deck of the foreign ship and staring at Malfoy only because he was the only face she recognized.

"'Ermione?" Krum had finally learned to say her name right, and he was at her side, looking down at her with worry in his dark eyes. He placed a firm arm around her shoulders and eyed Draco, who turned away almost immediately and was suddenly very occupied with Crabbe and Goyle. "You should not be here, it can be unsafe." His voice was not only thick with his accent, but with concern for her...genuine concern...where was Fred's concern? Hermione's voice trembled as she fought to explain her dilemma, but all that poured out was,

"He left me...I-I mean, they left me." Krum, obviously at a lost for her meaning, took her to the kitchen where he had a house-elf fix her some butterbeer to calm her senses. Hermione was so frantic and dismayed that she couldn't even refuse the drink that the unpaid, underprivileged creature fixed her...house-elf rights and everything else she thought was important temporarily vanished from her mind as Krum gently pleaded that she explain herself better. The discomfort of the stool beneath her did little to calm her senses, but she felt herself submitting to the care Viktor was exhibiting in his chosen words and gestures. Her palms fixed against the warm mug, Hermione recounted her evening, though she dulled down the importance of Fred's role. Despite her beat-around-the-bush methods of story telling, however, Krum must have pieced together that there was something significant about Fred, or perhaps he had his suspicions before this night. Either way, he didn't explain how he knew but simply told her,

"Perhaps I should speak with him." Oddly enough, this soothed Hermione even in the rough tone of Krum's accent, though in contrast a quiet part of her senses went off in sheer alarm...Krum...speak with Fred about his treatment of her? This would surely erupt negatively, and yet for whatever reason, Hermione felt it was her best solution. Krum's actions were that of a genuine friend, as she might expect from Harry or Ron. She thanked him heartily, never once feeling uncomfortable under his dark stare, and even kissed him on the cheek when he ordered the ship back to bay despite the late hour.

She owed Viktor Krum a lot of credit...he was kinder than Fred Weasley could ever be.

* * *

"What happened to you three?" Ginny had left the Great Hall early due to a stomach ache and thought that she might be able to walk it off if she took a slight detour down the pillared corridor by the courtyard, but she found no peace there. What she did find were the shadowy forms of Fred and Lee walking slowly down the hall with George suspended between them, one of his arms around each of their shoulders and his head hanging loosely against his chest. Even in the dimness of the hall, Ginny could see that Fred's white dress shirt was sticking moistly to his chest, and she could hear the dripping issuing from the robe hung over Lee's free shoulder. "Is he alright?" Ginny didn't disguise her concern for George...it was most unlike either of the twins to submit to an injury; usually they took everything in stride. 

"He'd be better if he hadn't wasted his breath with profanities," Fred grumbled, nearly stumbling over his loose and soggy shoe laces. "Listen, has Hermione shown up at all?"

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, bewildered. "No, she wasn't at dinner. Where have you been? What's going on?"

Instead of answering her, Fred and Lee maneuvered their way towards the common room and kept a wary eye out for professors, knowing that this wouldn't appear good to any adult. With a grunt of discontentment, Ginny followed in suit, even holding doors open for them and helping to remove George's shoes once they arrived. A fire blazed in the hearth, and though George remained limply sprawled on the scarlet couch, Fred and Lee hastened to warm their chilled bodies. After prodding them a few minutes more with little success, Ginny retired to bed in a sour temperate and left the boys to their groaning. Fred caressed his rib cage, soar from where his side had slapped the cool firmness of the water's surface...yes, that would leave a mark. And he'd be walking like a bird for days, if the sore tingling in his hamstrings spoke with such urgency in the days to follow.

"What happened?" George finally spoke up, his eyes staring widely at the ceiling as he laced his fingers into his red hair. For a second, Fred was afraid that his brother might have literally been knocked senseless, but George continued absentmindedly. "We've never messed up like that. Where did we go wrong?"

Fred and Lee sighed, exchanging a look. The question couldn't be answered.

* * *

The boys' overslept breakfast, which was probably for the better...they figured that the Slytherins would have obscured the twins' reputations and painted the story for all it was worth, and they couldn't face it. Not yet, anyways. Fred did end up crawling from bed earlier than the others, even though his legs screamed at him from the moment that his feet touched the cold wooden floor. He scrunched up his face to avoid groaning and waking the others, but the dressing process was so slow and painful that by the time he pulled his tie on, he was panting. He fully intended to skip his lessons for the day and take a bad mark on anything that was due...he'd still be in bed if not for the fact that Hermione had left him restless all night...what if she hadn't made it off of the ship? What if she was hiding there, waiting to be found, or the Bulgarians kept her for sport? No, they weren't that uncivil. Now he was just being absurd. 

"'Ah, there's our spot of sunshine'," Ginny greeted him with a quote that Fred usually lifted to Ron, who woke up in all sorts of fits and moods. Fred couldn't find amusement in the irony of this, he merely grunted and focused on appearing normal though his limbs were crying out to him to kick back and remain a bum.

"Seen Hermione?" He asked, and though Ginny lifted a brow, she simply nodded silently.

"Where?" Fred felt his heart thunder in his ears in concern, but played it off as simple curiosity.

"She came in to bed a bit late last night, apparently Viktor Krum treated her to quite a night on board his ship. She left this morning with him, too." As icy as Fred had felt under the lake's surface, there was no comparison to the chill that found him now...he reminded himself over and over as he wandered Hogwarts, keeping his eyes peeled for the couple, that if Krum brought Hermione home safely he owed him a thanks...but all he could truly think was that he owed him a good solid kick in the arse. Strangely enough, no talk of the previous night's disaster found Fred's ears, which was both heartening and alarming...Malfoy would have at least spread enough rumors to reach half of the school. Something very strange was settling, of that Fred was certain. He couldn't affirm that it had anything to do with Krum until he turned the corner and came face to face with the man himself, who looked as sulky as usual.

"Are you Fred or...the other?" Krum's broken accent issued a certain amount of threat. Fred wondered for a moment if he should pretend to be George, but decided against it as he probably was indebted to Krum enough to at least be honest with him.

"Aye, that's me."

"We must talk. Walk with me." Fred did so hesitantly, finding that he could allow a certain amount of his discomfort to show in his walk as Krum's natural walk exhibited very little grace anyways. Suspecting that he knew what Krum was about to go on about, Fred hurriedly said,

"I didn't mean to leave Hermione aboard last night. I-"

"I know, my schoolmates told me what they did after I brought Hermione back here. If they hadn't, I'd break you now." The bluntness of Krum's words were not full of malice, just honesty, so Fred remained silent to hear out the Bulgarian. "You've hurt Hermione, and you must apologize."

"I plan to right after-"

"I made the Slytherins and my crew remain silent about what they did. It was not honorable of them, and they will be quiet. Thirteen against three is not right, though," Krum's face contorted to what threatened to be a smirk. "You deserved it."

"I know, but-"

"Now we discuss Hermione again, yes? She is taken with you, and I admit, I am jealous." Fred unintentionally gaped- Viktor Krum, jealous of him? "In my country, we would duel for a woman's hand. Hermione is young, but I want her to see her as my own." Fred couldn't allow his opinion to be silenced anymore, so at this, he paused amidst there walk and turned Krum towards him with a firm hand...amazingly, Fred had an inch or two advantage over Krum, but the Bulgarian certainly had the muscle hulk to make up for the lack of height in width.

"Listen, mate, Hermione's her own gal. Even if she would be comfortable with this bleeding idea of being a possession, I wouldn't, even if it'd make her 'mine', or whatever rubbish you're on about. So I'm not dueling with you. Sorry." Fred knew that he was not repaying Krum's courtesy very well, but he felt the whole gentleman charade had gone on long enough and was sick of masquerading gratefulness when he was really feeling a rush of anger of Krum's obsessive hold on Hermione. As the twin started to walk away, he felt an equally firm hand find his shoulder and turn him back around to face the flashing eyes of Krum.

"Then we will not duel for Hermione like that. But we duel, and if you win, I stop pursuing Hermione, and if I win, the same for you." The proposal hung silently in the air for a moment before Fred straightened his back with difficulty and nodded.

"Time and place, mate."

* * *

If Krum hadn't been such a gentleman to her and made her remaining time aboard the Bulgarian vessel so enjoyable, Hermione was sure that yesterday would have been one of the worst days of her Hogwarts career. No anger she had ever felt matched what she now felt geared towards Fred, who had just up and left her on the ship as though she hadn't arrived with him at all...Hermione was half tempted to believe that he had done so as a joke, but even he could not be that cruel. Krum had walked her all the way to the common room entrance and seen her to breakfast in the morning, much to Harry and Ron's obvious discomfort. Fred, George, and Lee were not at breakfast, and Hermione marked it up as either shame or laziness...there could be no valid excuse for their absence, and Hermione was not about to start giving them credit now. Any reputation Fred had built with her had been wiped away and simply restored with the face she held for him in the past years of their acquaintance: a troublemaker and jokester, nothing more. She fought to forget the days she had stolen with Fred and the time she had wasted in his presence...how could she have been so daft to believe they could reconcile their differences? 

The girl was so livid in her thoughts that she turned a corner and walked flat into George and Lee, who looked pale and exhausted...and was it her imagination, or were walking odd?

"There you are," George offered as a greeting, leaning against the wall as he surveyed her. "Fred's been a ruddy mess trying to find you all day."

"Has he? Well, good." With her nose held in the air, she pushed passed the two boys with the hope that they would relay to Fred the anger she had bestowed upon them...she didn't blame yesterday's mishap entirely on him, she knew that George and Lee were to blame as well. Strangely enough, she couldn't wait to see the boy that had caused her such grief and tell him once and for all that she was ready to be done with his company...not because Krum had taken his place, but because she had reached the agreement deep in her restless night that she was not ready for any boy to step into her life just yet...least of all, Fred Weasley. At the same time, she grudgingly felt a wave of sadness that things had come to this, and wished desperately that maybe it could have all been some misunderstanding...but her hopes found no assurance.

"Hermione!" She was unsure how to greet him when he finally tumbled around a corner, spotted her, and jogged towards her with his red hair flopping into his cool eyes. "I'm so-"

"Sorry, Fred," Hermione haltingly responded, hanging her head down and only now realizing how hard this was truly going to be. Her heart was still with Fred Weasley, but her logic had finally overcome her pitiful emotions, and she knew that there was no other way the school year could continue without this conversation. She released her rehearsed words automatically and robotically, hiding the emotion that coursed through her and bit at her eyes with relentless moisture. "I'm afraid I've come to a decision...I mean...about us." She finally met his eyes, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing how difficult this was going to be. "And I know you know I'm right. This can't go on, and yesterday only affirmed my concerns. We weren't meant to have to try so hard to be together, and I'm finished with it. I'm sorry. Good bye, Fred." Holding her books to her chest, she turned on her heel and walked in the direction she had come, bowing her head over her books and begging her shoulders not to shake with the silent sobs finding their ways into her lungs.

"Stop! Hermione!" Fred caught up to her and cut her off, placing his hands on either of her shoulders and forcing her to face him. Hermione lifted her watery gaze, and her heart ached to see hurt riddled on Fred's normally jovial expression. "I know you don't believe that...come on...you don't understand what happened yesterday."

"Don't I?" Hermione shrugged off his hold, her temper mingling with her disdain. "Well, if Viktor hadn't shown up and-"

"Ooh, Viktor, now it all makes sense." Fred's hurt snapped and ruptured his attitude, and he crossed his arms over his chest knowingly. "Krum's had words with you, has he? And you believed him? Whatever he said, it wasn't true. Yesterday we-"

"How dare you accuse Viktor like that, you haven't a clue what you're talking about!" Hermione growled, her fingers clinging to her books in the raw attempt to keep herself from lashing out at Fred.

"Don't I?" He mimicked her tone, glaring at her. "No, miss know-it-all, _you_ haven't a clue what you're talking about. You're just a silly little girl, after all. You're right...we were stupid to ever think this could work out. Next time just save me the trouble and tell me that you prefer arrogant, possessive foreigners so I don't have to put my neck on the line for you!" Fred flipped his red bangs, cast her a final glare, and turned to leave Hermione and hopefully never have to deal with her again. He spotted George and Lee waiting for him at the end of the corridor, their expressions not suggesting they had overheard the conversation, and approached them with dread in every one of his steps.

"Fred...you...you..." Hermione fumbled for words foul enough to suit him. Finding that she couldn't bring herself to sink to his level and curse at his back, she simply cried out towards the rear ofhis wrinkled dress hirtwith her voice broken with silent sobs and said, "You're right. I have been a silly little girl for ever believing that I could ever be with someone like you! I wouldn't spend another day with you if we were the last two people in Hogwarts!"

"Suits me fine, Granger, now keep your voice down before you let every one know how bloody stupid I've been for putting up with your bollocks!"

* * *

**There it is, are you all still breathing through the angst? Please R&R, and tell me what kind of fic you might like to read from me. I'm honestly considering a ton of subjects at the moment, but would like to hear readers' imputs. **


	11. Once and Always a Weasley Twin

**Author's Note: Wah! The last chapter! The writing process of this was slow and sad, because I really don't want it to be over for another year till the 5th movie is released...and I'm not really happy with the closure of this chapter. I'm not as excited about it as I have been in the past. I was so tempted to draw this out and add another chapter, but after the final task, it almost feels wrong to add more. There's something I really wanted to do with a Wizards' Masquerade, but I think I'll pick up on that for the next fic. I'll miss you all, I'm not sure what my next project will be on here...if it'll be on here at all. I have a novel that I've been working on for quite some time that I'd like to see finished. I still may find time for an X-men fic, but we'll see. **

**Disclaimer: These characters are STILL not mine. Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling's. **

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* * *

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George couldn't recall ever having seen Fred so riled up as his brother marched down the hall towards them, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets and his head held defiantly high. George leaned to the left, catching a glimpse of Hermione stomping the opposite way, and could only guess what disaster had occurred between the two.

"Lee, perhaps you'd better give me a moment alone with the beast, eh?"

"The pleasure is yours. See you in Transfiguration."

George waited patiently until his brother had reached him and then violently bombarded him with questions.

"What happened? What'd she say? Did you tell her about yesterday?" Fred waved off his brother and hoisted his shoulder bag from the floor to his back, shrugging off George's persistency with a sour glare.

"I'm done, mate, I give up." Fred's bitter gaze shifted to one of defeat and hurt, and George's eyes widened in surprise...no female had the power to do this to his brother, the very thought was inconceivable! And yet here Fred was, sulking and looking broken, while Hermione stomped in the opposite direction. "Me and Krum are dueling tonight, and she's as good as claimed herself his. I might as well just let Krum flatten me, there's no point to even trying now."

"Good lord man, get a grip on yourself! You sound like a bloody woman!" George slapped either side of Fred's face with the back of his hand good-naturedly and then persistently shook his brother's shoulders until Fred met his eyes. "She's told you before that she doesn't feel for that twit like she does for you, so why are you going to believe her now? She's just trying to get you riled up! Don't let her use her female guiles over you! For goodness' sakes, you're a Weasley twin!"

George's inspiring speech did little to motivate Fred as they walked. Instead, he moodily hung his head and glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm skipping class today to try and recuperate for the duel tonight. Get my assignments, will you?" Fred than turned and walked with defeat towards the common room, inspiring George to do something he swore that he'd never do, even for his best friend. He turned and chased after Hermione, he bag swinging against his sore side until he saw her reaching her Ancient Runes class room.

"Granger, get the hell back here." Hermione swung around, looking alarmed at the fierceness of George's voice, and then obviously let her anger seethe back through her as she surveyed him. She looked back and forth between her classroom and the twin, obviously unsure which was more important.

"If you've come to offer up a case for him, then do yourself a favor and save your breath."

"In my opinion, Fred's a lunatic for wanting to put up with you," George said bluntly, though the severity of his voice had dissipated and left him sounding merely explanatory. Hermione gaped openly and then shook her head fiercely, about to retort, but George hastened to cut her off. "But you have the right to know how thick you've been, Granger. Com'ere." He grabbed her arm and pulled her around the corner to where they'd be unseen by the students following in Hermione's tow to the Ancient Runes class.

"George, I'm going to be late." She persisted, though something in her mind warned her that she owed Fred's brother a moment of her time. George looked left and right, and then hastily untucked his shirt after setting down his bag and removing his robes. Dumbfounded, Hermione watched, until she saw that George was lifting up the side of his shirt to expose his toned side. She looked away, heat rising to her cheeks, and scolded,

"Whatever it is you're doing, stop!" After George remained silent to her objection, she spared a glance and allowed a gasp to slide through her lips. The boy's naturally white side was riddled and traced with deep bruising of blue and fleshy green, and it looked as though the swelling continued around his torso, though she could only see a small portion. After being convinced that he had the girl's attention, George dropped his shirt and put his hands on his hips in a Molly-Weasley impersonation that Hermione would never have expected possible from either one of the Weasley twins.

"Granger, you prat, the three of us were thrown overboard by the Slytherins and Bulgarians seconds after you disappeared. We had to swim back to shore before we were drowned. Fred's got a right nasty mark to match mine, and he took a hard hit to the legs." Hermione felt a curtain of shame sweep over her, and she placed a hand to her mouth to exhibit her shock. "Fred asked around about you the second we got back onto the grounds, and it was the first thing he did this morning...that is, right after he got lectured by Krum about being a fool. On top of it all, if you can imagine this, Krum convinced him to duel tonight for the right to pursue you...whatever rot that is. And Fred's still planning on going through with it, if you can imagine."

Hermione couldn't help it- she crashed into George and started crying pitifully, dropping her books to the floor and stomping her foot for affect. "Why didn't he just say so? This isn't fair. On top of all this mess w-with the tournament and Ron and Viktor...I j-just thought..."

"You thought wrong, Granger. Now please stop, your snotting up my dress shirt and it's the only clean one I've got left."

"Right, sorry." Hermione straightened up, heat rising to her cheeks as George awkwardly slipped his robes back over his shoulders. "You three probably should be looked at for those bruises...you might've cracked a rib or something..."

"Doubt it. Unless that's what this searing sensation is in my chest," George teased with difficulty, not quite so willing to forgive Hermione after seeing the damage she had inflicted upon his brother. "Anyways, I'm looking forward to having Fred back to himself, so if you'd take the opportunity to set this lovely mess straight, I won't have to slip some love potion into your pumpkin juice." Hermione paused, wondering if Fred could have possibly told his brother about the incident back in the fall...but before she could ask George, the twin offered a reassuring wink and sauntered off to meet up with Lee- the Weasley twins were more than back in good graces with Hermione. The problem would be getting Fred to forgive her.

* * *

Again, Hermione was wrong...the first problem would simply be in finding Fred. She skipped her Ancient Runes class and headed straight for the common room, hoping to find him resting and planning on making her mistakes up to him by nursing him back to health...but he wasn't there. She ran into Ron and Harry and slipped out a flustered excuse about forgetting her paper, than slipped back out to cross the length of the grounds with her eyes peeled for the twin. When she had searched the last of the classrooms, she decided that she and Fred were more than likely running circles around each other, and she collapsed on the solitary stone bench in the side garden with anguish marking her features.

"All right, Hermione?" It was Angelina, strolling along with a few of the older Gryffindor girls that Hermione only knew by appearance. Hermione lied through her teeth, muttering that she was fine and just getting a breathe air, but her deception was a pitiful attempt at disguise. Angelina excused herself from the other girls and sat down beside the distraught girl, whisking a black strand of hair out of her face to survey Hermione in a clearer light.

"This about Fred?" She asked cautiously. Hermione nodded, chewing her lower lip. "Listen, Hermione, boys truly aren't worth the trouble...I know you're fond of him, but really, I wouldn't have marked you the kind to sit around and dwell on it."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell Angelina the truth...tell her that she had royally messed up everything she finally thought she had gotten right. If her relationship with Fred had been an assignment, she would've failed it miserably and been denied the chance to retake the course...but Fred wasn't an assignment, he was a friend and so much more. Angelina continued onward wisely, and her words- though they addressed the issue from the wrong approach- gave Hermione an unexpected determination and valor.

"Whatever Fred's done now, it's not worth soaking in. That's just letting him get his way...I learned a long time ago that with those two you just have to put your fist down and pretend that you don't see them making fools of themselves. Things aren't going to get any better if you just keep-"

"Thanks a load, Angelina, I'll see you at dinner!" Hermione said and without further ado she jumped to her feet and began pacing the grounds yet again, leaving Angelina to stare after her in bewilderment. Hermione glanced at the sun, guessing that it was at least half past three...that left her with a few hours before dinner, and then a little more time would lapse before dark. A disturbing thought struck her- she hadn't a clue where this "duel" was supposed to take place. She wondered briefly if Fred would really go through with it, seeing as Viktor was older, stronger, and more educated than he was...then she remembered who she was dealing with and couldn't help but crack a smile. Fred wouldn't back down if he was facing Dumbledore in a duel...his stubborn attitude would forbid it. Suddenly Hermione struck gold with the realization that so many things that drove her mad about Fred, including his stubbornness, added to the fact that she was crazy about him. She couldn't wait to see him...and even if she had to immobilize him first, she would leap at him with a fierce hug and maybe even a kiss. Maybe.

* * *

"He wouldn't have gone alone...would he?" Lee asked, dumbfounded as he and George arrived at the bed chambers to find them vacant. George shook his head with equal confusion and worry, seeing that Fred's bed was rumpled and disarrayed as though Fred had tossed immensely. "Why'd he even agree to this bloody duel anyways? Better yet, why'd Krum challenge him, of all people?" Lee scratched his head thoughtfully, and George made a point of avoiding his gaze...he'd be true to his word, no one would know about Hermione...but he couldn't help but feel a bit panicked in knowing that Fred had set off for this absurd fight without letting anyone no where it would take place.

"We'll chalk it up as idiocy. Comon'. We haven't tried the forest yet."

* * *

"What's wrong with Hermione, do you suppose?" Ron asked Harry as the girl breezed past them with a half-hearted excuse. It was nearing the fifth time that they had run into her scurrying across the grounds in a flurry of robes, only this time, she had abandoned her robes in her passing of the common room and given in to pulling on her khaki jacket instead.

"I don't know. But that's supposedly the fourth time she's forgotten one of her papers for a class she doesn't even have today," Harry mused, though his face did not match his teasing face...something was stirring, something that he felt he should know about. He and Ron were both tired of being in the shadows to Hermione's secrets, which seemed to be developing more and more over the course of the year. The final task was approaching as quickly as the end of the term, and he would gladly appreciate Hermione's intelligence at his side...just as much as Ron wanted her back to help him with his overdue homework. Not to mention Harry felt he had enough to think about, what with his reoccurring nightmares and his scar burning so often, without Hermione adding to his concerns. The two boys were tempted to follow Hermione as she whisked away into the dusk one last time, but by some odd work of fate, they were heavily burdened with homework and opted to return to the common room. Hermione's oddities would have to be explained later.

* * *

Fred stood veiled in the shadows of the trees beside the docks, just as Krum had instructed him to do. The twin shifted his back against the surface of the bark as his eyes peeled through the dusky darkness settling over the ship that was hovering atop of the black, silky lake. Moments later, the hulky frame of Krum could be seen descending the gangplank and strutting from the dock with his ever-present awkward swagger, evoking a snigger from Fred's solemn being. He knew that despite Krum's appearance, the Bulgarian was both swift and agile: two characteristics that only added to his advantage of being stronger and more experienced than Fred. Maybe if Fred died, Hermione would like him again...the ironic, paradoxical humor to that thought made Fred flash a strained smile. Worrying briefly that Krum would miss his hiding spot and pass him by, Fred jokingly cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a poor bird cry that he thought any idiot could recognize...goofing around as he would have before the mess with Hermione relieved some of the severe fear that had been threatening to burst out of him. Krum glanced towards Fred; his eyes narrowed to peel the darkness, and approached the twin cautiously.

"What was that?" His thick accent was laced with suspicion and curiosity as he viewed Fred with a wary eye. The Weasley boy had abandoned his school robes and remained comfortably dressed for the fight, as he hadn't expected there to be any proper attire for a duel. He had remained in his white dress shirt with his Gryffindor tie loosely set around his collar, but instead of black slacks, he wore his classic brown trousers that his mum would have a fit seeing him wear in public for all the times she had tried to mend them ("No, mum, the holes give them character!"). Krum appeared quite the oppositely fashioned from Fred in the same deep shades of burgundy and brown he had worn during his grand entrance in the Great Hall. The thick, fur-lined coat made his chest appear even wider than Fred remembered it being; thankfully, he had left his Bulgarian winter cap aboard the ship.

"A bird, why, didn't you see it? Swooped right over top of you." Fred was tickled by Krum's daftness.

"No, I saw nothing."

"Yeah, crane or something. Anyways," Fred shrugged, straightening up with difficulty...he had gotten so comfortable leaning against the tree that he had forgotten how sore he was. Having no idea what Krum's proposal was for dueling, Fred decided to wait until the Bulgarian made the move, as he had doubtlessly done this more in his past then Fred. He would have had to, since Fred had never dueled any at all with an exception of Lockheart's pathetic attempt at the dueling club!

"This way." Krum skulked off into the night, walking the edge of the lake and constantly pausing to assure himself that they were not being followed or spotted by any students peering out of their windows from the castle's side. Fred walked a few steps behind, one hand clutching his wand in his pocket while the other frantically scratched the back of his neck- bloody mosquitoes. Krum finally stopped at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, on a flat stretch of grass just below an incline leading to the castle so that they would be hidden from spectators. Not to mention they had walked so far back that the explosions issued from their wands would be muffled to silenced..._Fantastic...no one to hear me scream...he's thought of everything._

"Ten paces, yes?" Krum whipped out his wand so fast that Fred heard the swish of it slicing the air. Immediately, Fred's body was overtaken with trepidation, and a cowardly voice within him begged him to surrender. He could have Hermione, she didn't want Fred anyways..._go on, repopulate Bulgaria, I don't care_! The sick humor that had been countering against Fred's fear painted a picture of Hermione serving some sloshing Bulgarian dish to a bunch of lopsided children who all sulked around with accents. No, she was better than that. Fred snapped his wand in front of his face, viewing Krum from either side of the narrow, wooden device, and then turned his back. _Ah, too quickly_...if his back was still in tact come morning time, it would worse than it had been waking up today. After a second's pause, he felt Krum's back against his, and the two both counted silently as they walked ten solid steps away from each other...

Each step floundered fear within Fred's gut like a fish in shallow water, but surprisingly, a stronger sensation crept into his being that he hadn't expected to kick in...determination. Perhaps it was because for whatever reason, Fred had bathed in the memory of Hermione while he waited for Krum at the docks and had recapped their stolen moments over the course of the school year...their brief dance at the Yule Ball...laying in the grass along the castle...their meeting in the hospital wing...yes. Know-it-all Hermione Granger was worth every bit of the turmoil she was causing him, and not just emotionally. Fred believed with all his being that if he survived the night, it would be with lesser limbs or a dramatically scarred face...and why shouldn't he? Krum was older, smarter, stronger...he had a nice, fluffy coat (Fred wasn't sure why this mattered, but the thought did linger in his mind as he tallied their differences)...there wasn't any reason Fred could have hope to last more than a few moments. Sweat pricked at his temple and warmed his back, though his mouth felt awkwardly dry in contrast. As his heel planted itself amidst his tenth pace, the twin swiveled around and extended his wand boldly, finding that in all his calculations, his fear had ironically subsided. The moment had come, and he belted the first spell that came to his tongue,

"_Tarantallegra_!" He didn't even have time to see if his spell struck home, for he had shouted his spell so loudly that he hadn't heard that Krum had released a spell in his Bulgarian tongue with a similar affect to the _Incendio_ spell. Fred's left sleeve burst into flames and the twin dove for the ground, smothering his arm before any of his flesh was licked by the flames...he panted, alarmed in realizing that this duel had more resting on it than he thought. He rolled onto his back and slid his charred sleeve up his arm, pleased to see that Krum was experiencing the lasting affects of his spell. The Bulgarian was still fighting to control his legs, which were sliding about rhythmically as though fighting to dance all their own...the humor behind it was too distracting, and Fred didn't take time to guard himself from the next spell Krum had to offer.

"_Conjunctivitis_!" A blinding flash found Fred's eyes and warmth seared through his lids, making him cry out and struggle to his feet blindly. Why hadn't he been on his defense? He whipped his wand about and spat out,

"_Avis_!" Though Fred could only see shapes, he could hear the incessant twittering of tiny birds launching themselves at Krum. The moment was all Fred needed- he straightened himself up and gained his bearings before following up his first spell with a harsher hex. "_Furnunculus_!" Krum cursed out of fury as tiny, red boils appeared over his exposed skin and he felt them bursting into existence across his chest and back as well. Fred took the moment to dig his palms into his eyes, moaning at the involuntary warmth trickling out of the corners of his lashes...he was no good blind!

"_Flipendo_!" Fred's feet jerked over his head as Krum cast the jinx, and the twin landed with a solid thump on his chest, his arms cockeyed to either side of his body and the side of his face planted in the soil lining the forest. Krum wasted no time in advancing upon Fred with his wand extended towards the fallen boy's face, but Fred wasn't out of the running just yet. He lifted his wand quickly and countered with, "_Expelliarmus_!" Krum's wand whipped from his hand and soared softly into the brush of the forest, and for a brief moment, Fred was deceived by believing he had conquered the great Viktor Krum. It was only a hope. Krum wasted no time in resorting to his brute force and threw himself onto Fred, groping for Fred's wand and knocking it out of his grasp. Fred flailed his limbs about, drawing an elbow over Krum's bearded face and lifting a knee into his solid gut...but his attempts were in vein- this was where Krum's size paid off. The Bulgarian shifted his weight against Fred, stifling an expression of alarm when Fred cried out in pain...not only had his breath entirely left him under Krum's weight, but his bruised side was throbbing under the pressure. Fred slammed his fist into Krum's face in vein, earning himself a counter punch to the side of the face that left him imagining he'd be looking like Mad Eye Moody come morning. Feeling weak and defeated, Fred let his hand fall to his side...where it landed on a narrow, wooden instrument. He jerked the wand between him and Krum's chests and shouted "_Stupefy_!" so loud that he heard the echo before Krum's body slumped into an unconscious heap to his right. Fred breathed in deep, hardly believing he could be so fortunate...and yet something felt distantly alarming...he closed his eyes and panted...why were his lids covered in white dots? He felt so tired.

His hand fell limp to his side, and did not move again.

* * *

"Ouch! George, get off my feet!"

"Sorry, Granger, I didn't know you were here. Wait...those aren't my feet...Lee, get off Hermione's feet!"

"Sorry, Granger, I thought they were rocks..."

"You thought my feet were...? Oh, never mind. Any sign of Fred?" Hermione anxiously asked, though she couldn't make out the expressions on the two boys' faces. She had been marching along the grounds alone for some time now when she had stumbled (quite literally) into George and Lee, who had been calling out for Fred in hushed tones. Her fear for her friend had tripled in the amount of time it had taken her to reach this point, where she was past curfew on the edge of the Forbidden Forest...why would he be so thick as to privately duel with Krum? Better yet, why did he do it even after Hermione had been quite brutal with him?

Meanwhile, George's thoughts practically mirrored Hermione's, only he was more optimistic. He knew his twin and how slippery he could be...that, and he could honestly say with a bit of pride that the two of them were smarter than people gave them credit for. Fred might be able to hold his own against Krum...but if he was left alone to bleed to death or something, George would be less optimistic. Then he saw them...the lumpy shadows sprawled in the grass just ahead. He half hoped that they were some of Hagrid's escaped blast ended skrewts, but as soon as he saw the moonlight reflecting off the glossy red hair, he knew it was a Weasley.

"George, Lee!" Hermione simultaneously spotted the limp forms, and her voice was hoarse with worry as she raced on ahead. George's hesitation dissipated and he was on her heels in no time, though he made a point to let her reach Fred first...the first thing Fred would want to see when he came to would certainly not be George's face...not likely, anyways. Hermione slid to her knees between the two unconscious boys, surveying both of them with her breath held in her chest out of panic...as she placed her hands in the grass to support herself, her hand found a well-polished wand she recognized as Krum's, and she absentmindedly pocketed it along side of Fred's.

"Are they...dead?" Lee asked, keeping his distance as though afraid to see a dead body. Hermione gazed down at Fred, her hand on his chest, and was relieved to feel it rising beneath her palm. She shifted her free hand to his forehead and pushed a strand of damp red hair from his features, examining him under the lit tip of her wand. His eyes were swollen and tight- a well-aimed _Conjunctivitis _spell. His sleeves were rolled up, but his left one was black like coal and crusty as though burnt...yes, Krum had certainly done well. She turned to survey the Bulgarian and was relieved to see he was breathing healthily as well. His skin was broken out in pulsing and festering boils, and his face was already bruising from a touch of the Weasley brute force...Fred had certainly held his own. Hermione felt a warming rush of pride as she surveyed the two injured young men that had fought for her, and though she wished they had settled things civilly, she felt fortunate to be so well thought of between them. But the question remained, who had won? No, that didn't mattered now, and it wouldn't matter tomorrow. Boys would be boys, and these boys had been stupid.

In her focus upon the boys, she hadn't caught the curiosity and confusion that Lee was beginning to exhibit in seeing her treat Fred with such affection. It was not lost on George, however, and the twin dutifully crouched beside his brother to inspect the damage and to pass Hermione a warning glance. The girl caught his meaning and pulled her hand hesitantly away from Fred. Satisfied, George let out a low whistle at seeing Fred's eyes, but other than that, he was impressed. He knew Fred would give Krum a run for his money!

"How are we supposed to get them back to the castle?" Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper as she thought of this. Not only was it past curfew, but if they were discovered hoisting two bruised, unconscious bodies around...there would be trouble. Especially for Fred. Krum would doubtlessly be excused by his headmaster for dueling, but at Hogwarts, fighting at wand point was strictly forbidden by Dumbledore himself; Fred already had quite a tally against him. There were some members of staff who'd leap at the opportunity to be rid of one half of the dynamic duo that stirred up more trouble within the school than any other students had in centuries. Hermione gulped, feeling the dreaded sense of uncontrollable emotions rise to her throat. Fred could've been expelled for this...he could _still_ be expelled for this. For her.

"No worries, Hermione, we have lots of experience in hoisting around unconscious bodies. Don't ask." George insisted and carefully began to place Fred over his shoulder, rising to his knees and then coming finally to his feet. Fred's unconscious head whipped around loosely, and a deep moan issued from his groggy throat...however, before Hermione could have a hope that he was coming around, the moan lapsed into deep and shallow breathing. Lee had a much harder time getting Krum on his back, and he even needed Hermione to support him as he stood up and shakily began to approach a secret entrance to the castle that George claimed was unknown by anyone except for the twins and Harry. The five steadily and slowly approached the rear castle wall; every few steps, Lee had to get a better grip on Krum. They finally had to stop and remove his huge jacket so that Lee could get his arms around the poor unconscious fellow, and Hermione clung to the jacket to vent some of the anxiety that was building due to breaking school rules so late at night. After much delay, they continued towards the passageway, and Hermione dutifully watched Fred all the while and paused every now and then to push his sweat-laden bangs out of his swollen eyes. He truly was an idiot.

* * *

A strange sort of tingling sensation traced Fred's toes, waking him up. He opened his eyes, which felt sore, but not unbearable...instead of finding himself on the lawn as he had expected, he was in the Gryffindor Common Room, strewn in front of the fireplace with a handful of throw pillows and blankets. His feet were lazily propped up and asleep, which explained the tingling sensation, but he could find no remembrance of the previous night...only that he had beaten Krum...oh, he remembered that factor well. The twin struggled sit up on his elbows, noting that his shoes and tie had been removed and his sleeve mended. If he had been found by a professor, why wasn't he in the hospital wing, or at least in his bed? It was then Fred heard the distinct buzz of gossip floating of the back of the couch he was sprawled behind. He painfully came to his knees and peeked his head over the rim of the couch, seeing a handful of Gryffindor girls (including Lavender, Patil, Angelina, and Katie) looking in his direction with giggles ridden in their interested expressions.

_What could Krum have done to me to get this attention? _Then it struck him to look down, and there the answer was- Krum was lying limply across the couch, looking oddly peaceful despite his bruised jaw and gaping mouth. Fred grinned- yes, that was his work. However, the boils were all healed over and gone as though they had never existed at all. As though Krum's wounds had reminded him of the brutal beating he had earned himself the previous night, Fred shrunk back down behind the couch and cautiously touched his face. A single black eye was his only souvenir and reminded the Weasley of how fortunate he had been to find his wand strewn in the grass...fate had surely been on his side that night. Again, confusion hammered Fred more persistently than his sore limbs, and Fred lay back down to consider how he and Krum might've ended up back here. Even when he heard the sound of the portrait hole closing behind the exiting girls, he couldn't find any desire to follow them to breakfast...there would be no classes today, so Fred could simply lounge about and contemplate his luck. The portrait creaked open again; the thought struck him that Karkaroff would likely be throwing a fit in not knowing his champion's whereabouts, and that the whole school would probably hear about Viktor Krum dozing in the Gryffindor Common Room from the giggling girls. Fred didn't have much time to think of a good explanation, only he was unaware that he wouldn't have to.

Footsteps pried into his thoughts, and Fred listened for who had entered.

"He's drooling. Should we do something about that?" George! From the sound of his voice, he was hovering over Krum.

"Yes, we should probably get him a towel...or something..." Hermione? Fred decided to lie very still, though inwardly, he felt like letting out a whoop...George and Hermione...those two names alone in themselves were an explanation enough for how Fred wound up within the safe walls of the Gryffindor lounge.

"Not what I had in mind. I bet we could sell that drool for a couple of galleons..."

"George!"

"You're right, sorry. A couple of sickles at the most." Fred couldn't take it any longer. As much as his back detested it, he came to his feet behind the couch and frantically added,

"We could probably use it as some sort of ingredient, don't you think? I bet there are a lot of sorry blokes who'd try using a love potion on a girl that had_ Essence De Viktor Krum_." George and Hermione's faces took on such shocked expressions that Fred couldn't help but laugh, though he regretted it as a burning flame traced up his side to remind him of his bruises. He leaned against the back of the couch for support and smiled at Hermione and his brother, who recovered in a moment's time and quickly came to his side.

"Who won?" George asked anxiously as he grabbed Fred's elbow and fairly threw him down into an arm chair. Fred nestled back into the cushions, very aware that Hermione was quietly surveying him from a distance. Fred took his time resting his heels on the table and yawning elaborately to draw out the moment. George smacked him in the side of the head lightly, causing a ringing sensation in Fred's aching skull and making the twin abandon his behavior and hold his temples in both hands.

"I did, I think." Fred was careful to gauge Hermione's reaction...she didn't appear angry, and for some reason, she even had a face of guilt. Her soft eyes refused to meet his and she was gnawing on her lower lip both thoughtfully and worriedly; her hands were tucked over her stomach as her fingers furiously wound themselves together- Fred thought he heard a knuckle cracking amidst the twist of her hands. "He definitely had the upper hand, but I lucked out with a stunning spell. After that, I must have passed out." He gingerly rubbed his hands through his hair and found himself accumulating his own barrage of questions without answers. "How did we get here? Does Karkaroff know where Krum is? Has Madame Pomfrey seen either of us- I mean, I noticed that Krum's boils were gone and my eyes feel better and all...wait...how long have we been out?" Fred suddenly realized that he and Krum could have been unconscious for days in the Hospital Wing and then been transported here without even realizing it...then he realized that his bruises traced far down his sides and that his legs were aching, and he pondered if Madame Pomfrey had seen to them at all. If she had, she probably would have had to strip him down... "Lord, I haven't been _naked_, have I?" The thought of that hovering, old bat seeing him made Fred feel sick and failed- despite the injury, the twins had always found a way around Madame Pomfrey's cures and treatments.

"No one is that unfortunate, mate." George and Hermione both laughed at Fred's panic, reassuring him that his pride was still in tact. Krum stirred on the couch, his strand of drool shifting against his burgundy collar, but his eyes remained closed and his breathing deep. "Me, Lee, and Hermione came looking for you...figured you for dead, actually, and you would have deserved it. What were you playing at, going off on your own like that and not telling us where you'd be dueling? Krum could've completely slaughtered you and no one would even have known about it!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Hermione finally spoke up, stepping over to the twins and sitting down on the coffee table. She paused to tuck her skirt beneath her legs and fold her hands in her lap, and then continued. "Viktor wasn't dueling to the death, he's not like that. I don't know why you agreed to the duel in the first place." Her eyes finally found Fred's and were lingering in pools of unspoken accusations and questions, but she settled on pursing her lips and surveying him with a steady eye. George cleared his throat, obviously feeling awkward as he scratched the back of his scalp and watched the silent exchange between the two.

"Anyways, we brought you two up here and sent an owl to the ship with Krum's forged signature, saying he was staying with some friends in the school to get a better look at Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory." George grinned, obviously proud of this diabolical scheme, but Hermione scowled and lifted her nose in the air to express her disproval. George glanced at her, rolled his eyes, and added perhaps just to goad her, "And Hermione forged the signature herself, she's got quite a skill. Wish we had had her around when we sold all those fake notes from Dumbledore to get out of class."

Fred feebly grinned, trying to imagine Hermione taking part in one of he and George's pranks...the image did not come easily. "Or when we made those fake Apparition licenses?" Hermione gasped and placed her hands over her ears, shaking her head as though denying to have heard either of them.

"Hermione worked most of last night patching you two up, though she couldn't fix a few of your bruises. She got your eyes back to normal and Krum's boils to fade." Hermione blushed deeply at the earnest thanks in George's voice, but her sheepish eyes were mostly for Fred as she smiled a small grin of pride. Taking his cue to leave, George came to his feet and winked at his brother, glancing briefly at Hermione before turning towards the portrait hole and sauntering out to meet Lee, who had been waiting impatiently in the hall for news of the two injured boys. As the portrait creaked to a close, Hermione cleared her throat and busied herself with her skirt again. The silence was nearly unbearable as Fred surveyed her, but just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, Hermione rushed into a full apology.

"Fred, George told me about what happened on the ship...I'm so sorry...if I'd known, I wouldn't have been so upset, but I was just so frightened...then he told me about the duel, and I was so worried and so angry and so-"

"Ridiculous?" Fred prompted, but he was smiling. Slowly, so as to not upset his tired legs, he dropped his feet from the table and scooted from the armchair onto his knees in front of her so that he could crouch and look up at her. When Hermione said nothing, Fred gulped and pressed onward. "Granger, we've both been rather thick about this whole thing. Say we pretend this whole mess ever happened...go back to the beginning..."

"I don't want to go back to the beginning," Hermione intercepted, hesitantly pushing his red bangs out of his eyes and letting her hand rest freely on his cheek. "I thought you were detestable at the beginning, a show-off and a prankster who didn't know his full potential."

Fred laughed. "No one's saying that I'm not. I'm quite proud to fly my colors, thank you. That's just who I am. Besides, someone has got to keep you on your toes." He came to his feet and stretched his arms, feeling that the conversation was coming to a slow stop, but Hermione rose as well and looked up at him with an unsatisfied expression. After a moment's indecisive lapse, Hermione rose to her toes and planted a soft kiss on Fred's cheek, feeling the warmth flooding his face before she even pulled away. Grinning bashfully, she stepped down and shuffled backwards, refusing to meet Fred's wide eyes as he stared in elated shock at her. Finally, Fred grinned mischievously. "Knew I'd be keeping you on your toes."

* * *

Weeks passed, and with their closure came the final task...Hermione would have never guessed that it would come so quickly, as it marked the close of the year with a sad amount of finality. And despite the chill that was settling on her shoulders as she and Ron marched towards the arena, there was a sure scent of summer in the air to remind her that her time with her friends was waning. This summer she'd be returning to her parents, who although she missed, were no compensation for Ron, Harry, and of course...Fred. Pushing aside her nostalgic thoughts, Hermione focused on the fact that she should be concerned the final task was taking place after dusk...a brittle fog hugged the students together and hovered over their heads with a mysterious sense of foreshadowing, but Hermione was not fooled. She could tell that the fog had been layered to affect the "feel" of the task and to add character to the final event that was drawing all the houses and schools together as one.

Ron, however, could not sense the magic in the air. "Rotten night for fog, isn't it? I can hardly see you, and here Harry's supposed to be seeing whatever he's supposed to be doing. Do you think they planned this?"

"It's a possibility." Despite the anxiety she felt in expectation of the task, the girl was in a lofty mood that did not inspire her to rebuke Ron's oblivious attitude. Over breakfast this morning, and owl had arrived carrying what looked like a piece of muggle post, so Hermione assumed it was from her parents and pocketed to read during her walk across the grounds. When she had opened the broad, white envelope, however, the scarlet letter inside unfolded itself and hovered in front of her. _"My god, how on earth did mum and dad send me howler?" _Had been her initial thought, soon to be soothed by the fact that the red letter began to tinker a sweet melody plucked by a mandolin, and a golden scrawl flashed across the page as though being written at that precise moment.

"Hermione," she read as the music simultaneously softened. "Thought I'd let you know I've conned George and Lee into sitting behind you and Ron tonight so we can have a few words. I know you missed me at breakfast while I was busy drafting this for you. Do you like it, by the way? I think it'll sell nicely. The only problem is that it sometimes-" at this point, the letter had began to hover dangerously close to Hermione's face, and when she went to back away it had persistently and repeatedly flown at her. "-attacks the reader-" it began swatting itself against Hermione, and even as she grabbed its edges in both her hands to continue reading the script, it struggled against her hold like a miniature version of Hagrid's beloved monster book. "-but it's only a minor setback. Anyways. I'll see you tonight, Miss Granger." After a pause, the scrawl come back up hurriedly, as though Fred had wanted to add something. "P.S. By the way, you're standing in a puddle, did you know?..." Hermione glanced down at her feet, chagrined at not having realized the murky water was soaking through her dress shoes, and then hurriedly glanced around...how had Fred known to write that? She glanced up at the castle wall, eying the window to the Transfiguration classroom, and spotted a red head leaning against the glass and peering down at her with a grin. She enthusiastically waved, fighting to hold the squirming envelope in one hand as her stomach erupted in flutters when Fred waved back. She laughed as she spotted McGonagall's lanky figure standing next to the oblivious Fred, tapping her wand in her hand and scowling at the unexpecting twin.

Hermione sighed- that had made her day, and it seemed as though nothing could go wrong as she and Ron approached the din of students flooding into the arena. Luckily, Hermione had learned never to trust that sensation- things could always go wrong, especially being a student at a Wizarding school where conspiracies, mysteries, and secrecy lurked everywhere.

"Look, Fred and George saved us spots." Ron grabbed her elbow and dragged her through the students that were bickering over the best seats. It seemed that the twins and Lee had some kind of power over younger students, because there was a clean circle of empty seats around them that they were protecting with only the slightest unhappy glance towards approaching kids. Spotting Hermione and Ron, Lee waved them over- for a moment, Hermione thought that Fred and George had abandoned their wagering business, but then she saw that a few boys were slipping Fred some sickles in exchange for a gambling ticket. She scowled as she took her seat, knowing that she would never approve of Fred's habits and that he would never submit to her rule-keeping persistency. The band was playing an entrance tune for the champions, who were sauntering around on the grassy field below the stands with trepidation in their walk. Hermione didn't blame them- gazing out over the length of the maze, she felt dizzy and sick for what Harry might face within the grassy walls that were waiting for him. Though she longed to turn around and speak to Fred about that afternoon, Dumbledore had begun to address the rowdy crowds with his rumbling voice that demanded attention. After a few brief words, Mr. Filch released the canon to mark the start of the task, and Harry, Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric disappeared into the grassy fortress to face their challenge.

"Guess now we just wait." Ron mused, sitting down in a slump and yawning. Hermione sat down next to him, rubbing her temples...their band was nothing to be boasted about and tonight they were playing particularly loud. Even over the buzz of the music, she couldn't miss the hoarse whispering in her ear as Fred leaned forward and addressed her.

"What are you doing after the task?" He asked, pretending to be occupied with lacing up his shoes.

"Celebrating, I imagine."

"I'm guessing that means you think Harry will win."

"Of course!" Hermione was genuinely shocked at Fred's lack of faith in their friend, but the twin held up his hands defensively.

"Just wondering if you'd like to place a wager on that."

"_Fred_!" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Fred's feigned innocent expression. Over the next few minutes, the small group fought to occupy themselves until something exciting happened...Lee had brought his set of exploding snaps, so he, Ron, and the twins playing a round as Hermione drew out her _Pocket Handbook for International Wizarding. _She leafed through the pages, fascinated but finding it increasingly hard to concentrate with the crowd, the band, the exploding snaps, and Fred's hand purposely brushing her arm whenever he moved. She gave up on reading just as students around her began to point and exclaim in wonder and worry; she turned, seeing red sparks fly over top of the maze in a hailing storm of panic. Her throat tightened- could those sparks belong to an injured Harry? The boys came to their feet in the hopes of getting a better view, but Hermione worried that if she stood she would topple over out of trepidation...no, she would remain seated until Dumbledore and the professors returned with whoever was out for the count. The moments that hovered between the appearance of the sparks and the return of the teachers were long and pained, but as Dumbledore's gray hair appeared from between the brush of the maze, Hermione leapt to her feet with renewed strength. The casualty was Fleur, who merely looked unconscious in Hagrid's arms with vines slithering around her pale and slender body. Madame Maxime moved at incredible fast rate for such a large woman, coming down on her champion with furious worry in her grotesque frame. No sooner had the Professors emerged from the maze that a second explosion of red sparks flew overhead, drawing the same reaction from the crowds. This time the stretcher that hovered between Dumbledore and Moody held the limp and defeated form of Viktor Krum, who looked quite ill. Hermione, along with dozens of other girls, gasped and covered her mouth in worry.

"Oh no! Viktor!" She mumbled. Ron and Fred's eyes both simultaneously narrowed and Fred even fought a smirk at his elation to see Viktor knocked cold...when the Bulgarian had come to in the Gryffindor Common Room, he and Fred had willingly shook hands under Hermione's supervising eye- but that didn't mean that Fred wasn't glad to see him out of the running for the Cup. "Maybe I should go to him...just in case..."

"Yes. Lovely idea- hey, look, you can follow the four dozen other girls on their way to see him!" Fred's tone was friendly and mocking, but it held a point that Hermione couldn't deny. The truth was, even if she and Krum could never exist romantically...he was a good friend, and she was earnestly worried about his well-being, even if she did want Harry to win. The crowd seemed to half expect a third show of red sparks to erupt, but when nearly ten minutes lapsed, everyone grew restless and bored again and began to dwindle back to their semi-entertaining distractions.

"Me and Fred are going to have words with a few potential customers down yonder." George pointed at a group of Ravenclaw 5th years that were flagging down the twins with their coin pouches. The twins hoisted their wagering tools over their shoulders and scooted out of the row, Fred poking Hermione good naturedly as he passed and whispering,

"If you aren't too busy celebrating tonight, I'm going to take you on a walk. George said he'd cover for us." Hermione's face flushed with pleasure as the twins jostled their way down and out, reached the field level and consulting with students cautiously, so as not to be spotted by McGonagall. More time lapsed, and Hermione's anxiety grew to a peak...she didn't know whether or not it was a good thing Harry hadn't come back already. Nearly a half hour after Krum's return, a slight pop filled the sound of the arena, and the crowd and band burst into an elated din of celebration. Hermione stood on tip toe and strained her eyes towards the field, seeing Harry and Cedric landing in the grass with the Triwizard Cup strewn at their side...what, a tie then? Hermione paused, cheering with Ron to see that Harry appeared rather haggard and dirty, but alright...unless...was that blood? She strained her eyes more, fighting to see Cedric- but Harry was sprawled across him, holding him against his chest, sobbing. Something was terribly wrong. Suddenly, a shrill screamed pierced the air, and more and more students fell to a shocked silence as the darkness of the moment passed over them all in a wave of realization. Cedric's glossy, opened eyes stared at the night sky, and his chest was still beneath Harry's wracked body...the boy was dead. Hermione gasped, fighting to control her emotions she the horror of it all sunk in...

Dumbledore and other professors, along with Cedric's dad, rushed towards the duo. What was it that Harry was telling Dumbledore as Moody fought to pry him off the fallen body of Cedric?

"He's back...Voldemort's back..." Ice struck cold against Hermione chest, and she clutched Ron for support as a tear traced her cheek. Cedric couldn't be dead, it was unbelievable and impossibly tragic...but _Voldemort_, back? As much as Hermione wanted to criticize Harry's sanity along with the other surveying students, she knew that her friend had lived a nightmare to be in his condition...and for the pain and shock of Cedric's death, perhaps this was the only explanation. Cedric wouldn't have gone out easily to anyone but the Dark Lord himself. Ron held Hermione against his shoulder, and the two were overcome with the urge to seek out Harry and hold him amidst his grief, but Moody was taking the boy into the castle, away from the prying and terrified crowds. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted Fred and George being the first to step into the castle behind Moody and Harry, but even Fred could bring her no sense of happiness. It was as though all the joy had been wrought from her being, like a dozen dementors had breathed into her ear to inform her of Cedric's death...the cold still swept her body, begging her to cry, and cry she did. For Harry, for herself...and for Cedric.

* * *

Fred and George had seen the terrible arrival of the two final champions from an entirely different perspective and one even harder to bear. Fred set down the gambling box at his heels in seeing that McGonagall was eyeing the two of them warily; the twins took a moment to converse with the other students in a very non-suspicious way. Fred had just been laughing with a member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team about something Marcus Flint had done during last year's Gryffindor-Slytherin game, when his ears were filled with the crack of a portkey, and he turned to survey whoever had arrived. Immediately, Fred and George both froze and fell silent, hearing the silence prevail in waves behind them as everyone came to the stark realization that all was not well within the arena.

Before Fred even noticed Harry's distraught condition, he had seen the blank and pallid face of Cedric staring expressionless at the sky...he had never seen a dead body, but he knew one when he saw one. At first, the shock came in the form of staring and gaping, then it dissolved into a reign of pain that settled on his shoulders. He had not known Cedric well, but he had respect for him, and he and George had both had a few good laughs while in class with the well-known Hufflepuff. Dead? Never to laugh, study, or fly again? The notion seemed impossible, but it took a firm grasp on Fred's gut that made him want to double over in grief...Cedric Diggory had breathed his last, and by the sickly look of his deadened face, it had not been peaceful. What had happened? The twin zoned in just in time to hear Harry claim in a broken voice,

"Voldemort's back." Fred was not usually on to be taken by surprise, but he found himself openly gaping and allowing a fearful expression to settle over him. He trusted Harry, maybe even with his life. If Potter said Voldemort was back, Voldemort was back...and there was no telling what tomorrow would bring with such consequences. The pain-staking reality and connection between Diggory's death and Voldemort's supposed rise hit Fred like a punch to the chest...Cedric had been murdered by the darkest wizard ever known to the Wizarding world, and it had happened amidst Hogwarts' festivities. Moody jostled Harry past the twins and into the castle, and Fred had never felt so useless...what good were pranks and potions when a friend was in pain? What good were they if the Dark Lord truly was rising back into power? Fred wanted more than anything to grab Harry and offer words of wisdom, and yet he had none...even if he did, he doubted he would be able to speak them without breaking. Cedric was dead, and though Fred had nothing to do with it, he felt largely responsible and guilty. There were so many opportunities that could've been had with Cedric in life, and they left no echo in his death. Fred felt hollow, and he barely realized that he and George were leading a filing line of shocked and broken students back into the castle...he wished he weren't so prideful. He would have loved to have cried at that moment, but something stopped him, some masculine barrier that insisted he tried and be strong amidst the tidal wave that worked his feet. He managed to pass off wiping his moist eyes for simply scratching his nose, but George knew better...only because his eyes were moist as well.

* * *

"Today we acknowledge really terrible loss. Cedric Diggory was as you all know, exceptionally hard working, intricately fair minded." The great hall had taken on the appearance of a cathedral, lined with dark Hufflepuff banners that reflected everyone's sober moods and hung from dark pillars and arches overhead. The hushed crowd remained seated on the long, wooden pews except for Dumbledore, who was thoughtfully resting in his high-backed chair on a platform in front of the silent students." And most importantly a fierce, fierce friend. I think therefore you have the right to know exactly how he died." Fred bowed his head briefly, chewing the inside of his cheek. He knew how Cedric had died, he had heard Harry's words and they were enough to satisfy any curiosity he might have had for the dire subject. A chorus of sniffing from girls and boys alike concurred with Dumbledore's rumbling and sympathetic tone: strangely, as dark as the old professor's words were, his voice held comfort for everyone witnessing Cedric's procession." You see, Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort. The ministry of magic does not wish me to tell you this. But not to do so I think would be an insult to his memory." In everyone's grief, they could find no power to be alarmed or shocked by this news...word of Harry's first words upon reappearing in the arena had traveled fast on the wings of gossip, and Dumbledore's honesty only reaffirmed everyone's vague suspicions. "Now, the pain we all feel at this dreadful loss reminds me, reminds us that while we may come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one. In light of recent events the bonds of friendship we made this year will be more important than ever. Remember that and Cedric Diggory will not have died in vain, you remember that." Fred twisted his hands in his lap, and a tear wound its way down the curvature of his long nose and spilt down his neck...he was not ashamed to cry, not now. George sniffed beside him, and all down the row of Hufflepuffs, the boys on the team openly wept for their friend. Dumbledore's words rang with finality as he offered in soft closure," And we'll celebrate a boy who was kind and honest and brave and true right to the very end."

Even as he announced their dismissal, very few students moved to escape the resounding bells that rang in respect throughout the Great Hall. Fred leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands to massage his aching temples. The only reason that anyone finally decided to move was because it was the day of the Bulgarians and Beauxbaton' departure, and there were even more farewells to be offered besides the final farewell to Cedric Diggory. Everyone filed into the spacious courtyard, embracing and promising to write- but Fred and George casually refrained from interaction and leaned against the aged, stone columns in condolence towards each other.

"You alright?" George asked, shuffling his dress shoes into the dirt. Fred nodded silently and pulled his black robe over his head, slinging it over his shoulder with a deep sigh.

"I'm ready to be done here, you know? I like being here, but at the same time, I don't want to be here. Make sense?"

"Sure." George shrugged. "I feel the same way. We just weren't conceived for an education- we've received a higher calling." Glad to see the twinkle back in his twin's eye, Fred smirked. The muscle movement relaxed his whole being...it felt good to have a reason to smile.

"We should stick it out...for Dumbledore. He's a good guy, we owe it to him for all the strife, don't you think?"

"I agree. We can tough it out for Ole' Al. I figured we'd have to since our first year, when we snuck into his office and ate all his lemon drops..."

"He was so nice when we got sick on his throw rug from eating them too," Fred mused and scratched the back of his neck as he watched the friendly exchanges between the students. He had made friends from both visiting schools, but for the moment, he didn't feel deeply enough about anything except for Cedric's passing to pay his acquaintances heed. Hermione, on the other hand, had one particularly important farewell to give.

* * *

"Here," Viktor had taken her by surprise when she heard his deep accent from over her shoulder. She turned ever so slightly to greet him, and awkwardly found that he was pressing a small piece of folded parchment into her palm. "I want you to write to me." Little else was said between them, but Hermione knew that their correspondence would continue even if a romantic relationship could not...she felt something for Krum, and even if entirely in a friendship perspective, she wanted to maintain what had been built between them. Angelina saw the small parting gesture and quickly stepped over to the faintly grinning Hermione.

"Did Viktor Krum just leave you his address?" She teased, eying the paper with jealousy and giggling slightly.

"Yes...I think so..." Hermione giggled a bit as well. Would she have thought eight months ago that she and Viktor Krum would promise to correspond over the summer? Then again, would she have thought that she and Fred would be watering a secret relationship? What an odd year it had been...and what a terrible end it had been driven to.

"Are you going to write to Fred?" Angelina caught Hermione off guard with her quiet subtlety about the Weasley twin, who Hermione had spotted reclining with George against the wall.

"I-I...suppose that I will. We haven't really talked about this summer."

"I see." Angelina surveyed the younger girl with interest before she nodded her farewell and began chirping with Katie Bell and a few of the young Bulgarian students that they had managed to reel in with their sporty charms. Hermione absentmindedly stared at her back for a moment longer before snapping out of her thoughtful daze and deciding to regroup with Ron and Harry, who were waiting just a bit out of the crowd with forlorn expressions. As she approached them with her robes sashaying around her calves, she chewed her lower lip and fought the urge to glance over towards the twins, who had not moved from their comfortable position. She and Fred would have their moment alone later...after Hermione was given the chance to speak with her best friends about the growing dread in her stomach. Things would never be the same after this: at Hogwarts, at home, anywhere...change was unavoidable, but couldn't it be gauged? She was sick of feeling unprepared and useless...it was not a sensation she was used to amidst her status of shining Hogwarts role model. And yet things would change regardless of the opposition...the trick would be in mastering the response.

She had thought last September that she would control her feelings just like she could control change. How naive she had been.

* * *

It was obvious that although George wanted Fred to follow him back to the common room to finish packing their bags, he was resigned to let his brother wait for the chance to catch Hermione away from Ron and Harry. Fred waited impatiently outside of the columned hall that led to where the trio stood gazing over the lake, and he fairly sighed with relief when he heard Ron and Harry running on ahead to catch Neville and Seamus. The soft and steady footsteps of Hermione followed, and Fred waited until he could hear her feet on the stone behind him before he peeked around the stone pillar he had been leaning against and snatched her arm. She gasped and shook off his hold abruptly, though the pleasure in her face was obvious.

"Fred, don't do that! You scared me to death!"

"Well, you look pretty good for a dead girl, all things considered." The bleak irony of their words set in, and they awkwardly stood in silence as though waiting for their discomfort to fade. Noting the weary lines on Hermione's usually smooth complexion, Fred shifted his weight and asked, "Alright, Hermione?" She sighed and nodded hesitantly.

"I think I am. Really. It's hard thinking that all this has happened in the past few days...and I'm scared, and sad, but oddly- I'm alright. You?"

Fred shrugged. He really didn't know what he was...Cedric's death had taken its toll on all of them, and some of them were already in the process of recovering, but Fred felt as though he were in limbo. He could relate to Hermione's words: something felt wrong and out of place, but at the same time, it was countered by a peace in that for now all was well. He began to walk down the hall, hands in his pockets, and was surprised when Hermione's arm wound her way through his. The nagging burden of their relationship's uncertainty burned in his mind, and he found the gall to ask, "What are we going to do this summer? I'll write to you...but it'll be hard getting around the family forever with the post coming and going. Suppose we just tell Ron and the others-"

"No! Fred!" Aghast, Hermione stopped and stared at him. "You know we can't. Ron...he'd be...well...can't you just ring me?"

"Ring you?" Fred stared at her quizzically. What nonsense was she on about? "What do you mean?"

"You know, with the telephone."

"Ah, right, right. Dad's got us one of those, but you can't really expect us to know how to work it." Fred began to walk again, pulling her along with him as he gnawed his cheek crookedly. "You'll come and visit the Burrow, right?"

"I plan on it, yes."

"Then we'll see each other."

"That's not till the end of the summer, practically. Are you alright with that?"

"Yes...er- no. Well. Which would you prefer me to be?"

"I don't know." Hermione sighed again, obviously frustrated and drained. "Do you think...maybe we should just...wait?" Wait. What an easily misinterpreted word.

"Wait? As in not speak, you mean? Wait to see what happens, wait to see where it goes, wait to get older, what? What do you mean, wait?" Fred had dropped her arm and although he continued to walk, his eyes were flashing out as though he had paused to survey Hermione.

"Fred, please don't be mad. That's not what I meant." She shook her curly head and touched his elbow softly, her face taking on an injured look that relieved Fred of his temper. "I just was implying that perhaps all we can do is wait. I don't know what for, but it seems that if we don't wait, we're expected to take on some sort of status or tell people or- or- oh, I don't know."

"So you don't think we're ready for a 'status'?"

"I don't think we're ready to _want_ a status, do you?" Hermione posed. She had not thought of the implications of the question before she stated it, and now the reality of her words sunk into her chest like a cool, refreshing drink. She understood what she meant and what she felt. She may not understand Fred, but for all her struggles, she finally understood herself. "I can't say that I want to think we're ready to consider ourselves more until I feel...well, more secure. I'd be so distracted by all the things wrong with us being together I'd stop noticing the things right with us being together. Does that make sense?"

Fred had remained silent, without argument, but Hermione had not known whether or not he'd agree with her words or be injured by them. The truth was, she _did_ want to be with Fred...but she could not be his girlfriend with her conscience screaming at her that the Weasleys, Harry, and the rest of their joint friends deserved more of a notice. It seemed selfish for her to want to have Fred as a secret- it was tearing at her other friends, and she could not possibly give them an answer for her behavior. On top of it all, there was Cedric and Voldemort...right now, the world was bigger than Fred and Hermione, and they needed to take into account that perhaps now was not the most convenient of times to try and be together in secret. Hermione was ready for a time to come, but she was not ready to forcibly make one.

"I guess. I don't know. I just fancy you...a lot." Fred turned a sad expression upon her that begged her to reconsider her words, but the girl's mind was made up and she settled on holding his hands in hers.

"I fancy you too, Fred. I'm sorry things have been so chaotic between us...it would have been nice to have more days like the one on the hill, when we laid and talked for hours."

"I think we can steal one more." Fred's exuberant wink was back, and aimed down at her with a special gleam that Hermione knew would not fade despite the distance of the summer and the difficulty of their communication. "Come on, Granger," he kissed her forehead and then teasingly shuffled her bushy hair through his hands. "If you're going to spend the summer writing to Krum and not me, I deserve one last afternoon with you to myself."

"Fred!" Hermione scowled up at him, first because of her messy hair, and then because of his words about Viktor. "Don't start this again. You know that if I could, I'd be writing to you."

"You know what I think?" Hermione hardly had time to stop him before he stepped up so close to her that he towered over top of her and his shoulder nearly brushed her head. "I think that if you could, you'd be kissing me." A moment of held breath lapsed before Fred added in a less-than-smooth voice, "Erm...right now, preferably." Hermione laughed good-naturedly, a blush skimming her cheeks, and she took Fred's less than subtle hint and granted him a kiss. She hadn't planned on him scooping her up and spinning her around, but the warm movement reminded Hermione of why she had been so smitten with Fred to begin with. Their embrace was brief, but in its silent lapse Fred knew that no matter how Hermione Granger decided to define the term "wait", he'd be willing to do so...provided that she would forgive him after finding out that he had slipped Krum a going away present in their brief farewell. But after all, the Bulgarian had looked so nice with boils before; it'd be a perfect accommodation for his long sail back to Bulgaria. Fred grinned into he and Hermione's silent embrace...once a Weasley twin, always a Weasley twin, and no girl could ever change that.

* * *

**I'm so sad! This is it, you guys, until OoTP! Thank you so much to all you kind reviewers who have returned over and over to encourage me in the slow and steady progression of this fic, your words will be missed over the next year. I've decided not to release another Fred/Hermione fic before the OoTP one, but to simply include their summer at the start of the next fic, as I think I might have less in the actual book to work with. I hope you all will remain fans till then and keep up on my other works, which at the moment, are at a bit of a stand still. I'd like to finish the first installment of Forsaken by summer's end, and then...who knows? **

**Thanks again, everyone. Please give me a final round of R&Rs to remind me why I like writing so much. :) You've all been wonderful. **

**Cheers. **

**Graici **

**"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans-" John Lennon **


	12. The Letter

**Author's note: Well, after seeing the 5th movie last night, there seemed to be no other way around it. This chapter will be short and brief…then, a whole new fic will begin, a continuation of the last. But for all those who are watching this fic (anyone out there?), this way, you'll know to keep your eyes open for the beginning of the next (so far unnamed) installment. Remember, this follows the movie script rather than the book, though I might include some key parts from it as well.**

**Disclaimer: HP & characters disclaimed.**

* * *

"Hermione!"

"One moment, mum!"

"_Hermione_!"

"Mum, I'm coming!"

"No, Hermione, I need you, NOW!" It was the desperation, if not panic, in Mrs. Granger's voice that finally roused Hermione from her fluffy cotton bed and brought her from her bedroom in a flustered rush. Tugging down her long t-shirt to hide her bare legs, Hermione blinked into the light that bathed the upstairs corridor. Her feet plodded gently along the carpeted stairs as she followed the sound of her mom's panicked calls, and she wondered what on earth could be so important that Mrs. Granger would feel the need to wake her at- she gazed at the microwave clock- 7:18. And on a Sunday, at that!

Turning into the contemporary fashioned kitchen, Hermione nearly screamed when she spied her horrendously frazzled reflection in the patio window. She was tempted to stop and play with the brown bush that framed her fair skin, but instead, she obediently drew to her mother's side on the back deck. Luckily, the tall hedge hid the Grangers' small backyard, otherwise the neighbors might be subject to not only seeing Hermione's bare, white legs, but the old barn owl that lay sprawled as though dead upon the deck picnic table.

"Hermione, it just flew into the glass window while I was doing dishes!" Mrs. Granger held her rubber gloves aloft as though to bear witness. Small tufts of foam fluttered from the yellow fingers as she gestured wildly about. "And fell here…I think it's…do you think it's…where's your father when we need him?"

"Mum, calm down." Hermione muttered as her flustered mother all but screamed in her ear. "The neighbors will here you!" Mrs. Granger straightened her business-like attire and held her chin high in a fashion that Hermione had long imitated.

"You're right. We must be calm and rational about this. I'll get the raid."

"The raid? It's an owl, not a- wait-" Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she carefully prodded the fluffy owl's chest. After a moment of labored squawking, the owl flipped upright and cocked its head to the side in a familiar fashion. "ERROL!" Hermione laughed, not only in relief, but in elation. Errol was the Weasley's owl, after all, and when Hermione received post from the Weasleys half way through the summer, it usually meant one of two things. One, Ron was finally getting around to writing her, or two, she was receiving an invitation to come visit them at the Burrow!

_Of course, there's something else you wish it could be, isn't there?_ An annoying voice said to Hermione as she surveyed the creamy envelope that the owl bore. No. Why would _he_ be writing her now? After all, they had come to a sort of non-vocal conclusion that that wouldn't be best for them. She couldn't write him…not while the letter would undoubtedly pass through the Weasley Infiltration System (meaning, Ginny's snooping eyes and Mrs. Weasley's scrutinizing suspicions). But he could write her, couldn't he? Still, it had been nigh on a month, and hearing no word from him- even though she really hadn't expected any- had done much to place doubt in her mind. Did Fred like her at all? Did _she_ like _him_ at all? Of course she did! Why else would she get so jittery whenever she saw the back of a redhead at the grocery, or in the city?

"Hermione, could you maybe…?" Mrs. Granger looked pointedly to Errol, who promptly puffed out his feathered chest and took off with a deep-bellied hoot, as though offended by his brief hosts. Hermione clutched the letter, half daring to hope as she looked at the scrawl across its front side. Mrs. Weasley's fine cursive writing met her eyes, and she sighed. Of course it wasn't from Fred.

"Hermione?" When Hermione glanced up, her mother was looking at her with a curious, almost calculating gaze that put her on her guard. There was no reason to be upset of this, for cripes' sake! After all, if he hadn't contacted her yet, he probably never would.

"It's from Molly Weasley." She explained dejectedly as she ripped open the letter and retrieved its parchment in a flourish.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope your summer is going well. Here at the Burrow we're keeping busy, but we miss you and Harry. There is much that we'd like to add that we can't explain now. For now, would you like to come to the Burrow next weekend and spend the remainder of the summer with us? Arthur and I are taking the children to stay with an old friend with whom you might be acquainted. Let us know, dear._

_Molly Weasley_

"There is much that'd we'd like to add….an old friend with whom you might be acquainted…" What was Molly going on about? Hermione scratched her thick head of hair, and at hearing a distant car horn, jumped and remembered that she still was only half clothed. She stepped through the sliding patio door and pulled it shut behind her mother, reading over the letter's contents one more time.

She had never considered declining and invitation to the Burrow before…but at feeling the nervous jolt in her stomach, she suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea to put herself face to face with Fred again. What would she say? She'd surely give herself away with her frequent blushing and stuttering. But then, she really wanted to see Ron, who although she didn't feel the same for, was still her best friend. Would she really turn away a chance to be with Harry, Ron, and Ginny just to escape her own selfish worries?

Handing the letter off to her mother to read, Hermione retreated back up the stairs and threw herself across her bed. She stretched out across the mattress and dug her hands into her top desk drawer, producing a piece of parchment and an ink pen that would have to suffice.

"Dear Mrs. Weasley…" Hermione stopped and gnawed on the tip of the pen as she thought out an appropriate response. "I would love to come to the Burrow…"

* * *

"Ouch, bloody hell, it's hot!"

"Well of course it's hot, thickhead, it's fire!"

"Yeah, but…wait…fire? That's an interesting side effect. Jot it down."

"Already on it."

"Oh, yeah, and you'd better record this too, why you're at it," Fred held up his lap-sized cauldron, which was letting off a blue vapor that smelt like sulfur. "This is supposed to be a potion to temporarily cause blindness, not permanently cause nose deficiency."

George chuckled and scribbled furiously upon the clipboard that he leaned against one leg, watching as Fred cautiously placed the cauldron back onto their bedroom floor.

"You know, with our apparition test being two days away," Fred said with a hefty grunt as he scooted the weighted down cauldron across the stained, burnt, and dented floor, "you'd think we'd be practicing."

"I wouldn't think that. Would you think that?" George countered with a lopsided smile, leafing his hand through his newly cut red bangs. As he stretched out his long legs, Fred smirked. Seventeen years old, ready to pass their apparition tests and become illegal adults, and here they were, trying to brew potions for their growing stock of merchandise. This year at Hogwarts was full of fiscal promises, that was for certain.

"Not at all." He answered after a long moment.

"_I_ would think that." An ominously threatening voice said from the doorway. Fred gulped, swapped a quick glance with his twin, and lifted his eyes towards Molly Weasley, who tapped one foot in a steady rhythm while she folded her arms across her chest. "What…are…you…doing?" She asked through gritted teeth, hackles rising. Fred barely blinked as he lied,

"Making lunch." Unfortunately, George's genius lie also slipped out at that moment, and his contradicting answer of, "getting ready to give Errol a bath" didn't seem to appease Molly's suspicions very much. The woman's face grew red and her clenched fists trembled at her sides as she surveyed her two guilty sons.

"YOU'VE ALREADY HAD LUNCH AND ERROL IS TAKING A LETTER TO HERMIONE, SO I HIGHLY DOUBT-"

"For what?" Fred asked before he could stop himself. Hermione! Even though he had resigned to "waiting"- or whatever it was Hermione had convinced him to do over the summer- he had still anxiously awaited a chance to see her…hear from her…speak to her…

"What?" Molly paused, thrown for a loop from Fred's unexpected interruption. As she fixed her stern gaze upon him, he feigned innocence and held his hands up as though surrendering. George gazed at him worriedly, but Fred shrugged off his twin's gray penetrating stare as he looked to his mother, his eyes wide, mischievous smile hidden.

"What did you send Errol to Hermione for?" He repeated. The redness slowly faded in Molly's face as she surveyed her son as though she were looking upon a stranger. After giving her frizzy, red head a solid shake, she replied, "To ask her to the Burrow before we leave for headquarters."

"Right." Of course! Fred and George, via extendable ears, had overheard Molly and Arthur discussing the retrieval of Harry after they moved into Sirius' hidden home, so why wouldn't Hermione come along? She was practically part of the family, just as Harry was. Stifling a smile, Fred extended a spoonful of steaming, blue liquid in Molly's direction. "Want some lunch?"

The Burrow quaked as Molly slammed the door at her back, and Fred chuckled, satisfied. When he didn't hear the familiar laugh of his twin, Fred glanced over at George and was startled to see the grim expression painted on his normally jovial brother's face. Before Fred could inquire as to what had unsettled him, George said, "You've really got to be careful mate. If Hermione's going to be around…the last thing you want is for mum to find out you fancy her."

"Oh, come off it. First of all, mum's not going to find out, second of all- what if she did? There's no rule that says I can't fancy a girl."

"Right. But this isn't a girl. It's Hermione Granger."

"Yeah, well, that's what's so endearing about her. She doesn't have to be a girl."

"My, Fred, I didn't know your tastes ran that way."

"Knock it off, will you? You know what I mean. I mean with all the pink and fluff," Fred gestured about irritably, sending a spray of blue foam across the rug, which sizzled and burned. "The giggles, the-"

"Breasts?" George asked, eyebrow quirked as he evilly surveyed his brother. Fred scowled and colored, his face growing warm in the typical Weasley fashion.

"Hermione has those!"

"So you _have_ noticed she's a girl. Hey, perhaps we should start working on producing a potion to help her, you know, grow a little…"

"Yeah, and while we're at it, we can help you grow a brain. Come on, let's…" Fred's voice drifted off as he glanced out the window, spying the bobbing figure of Errol floating in the distance as the wind carried him over the trees and towards the Burrow. "Errol alert!" Fred cried loudly, scrambling to his feet and charging towards the bedroom door, George at his back.

"Errol alert!" The twins hollered together as they pounded down the stairs. An excited, girlish yelp came from Ginny's room, and a moment later, she appeared on the landing, a towel wrapped around her middle. Her hair clung damply to her neck as she chased after the twins, hollering, "Ron, Errol alert!"

Ron met the three excited youths outside, where he had been reclining in the shade, trying to beat the summer heat. Together, the four watched as Errol drew closer and closer, rocking this way and that, looking as though he might plummet from the sky at any moment.

"The gardens!" George predicted.

"The roof!" Ron argued, an excited smiling on his face as he watched the bird drop a little.

"He landed on that last time, dummy!" As she straightened out her towel, Ginny glared into the sunlight and said, "He'll hit the trees first."

"Blast, Ginny, that was my guess." Fred sighed but grinned crookedly at his little sibling, as though proud. Honestly, she was truly following in Fred and George's footsteps. At this time in one year, she'll practically own Hogwarts (permitted that he and George graduate on time and leave the position of ownership vacant).

"You're all wrong." Molly Weasley scolded them as she came from the kitchen, still wiping her hands on the front of her apron. Producing her wand from her back pocket, she pointed it in Errol and to her children's disappointment, safely lowered him down to the ground. "Honestly, poor Errol, you children mistreat him so." The owl hooted in agreement and shook a small envelope furiously about in his beak, as though insisting someone relieve him of his great burden. Fred moved quickly, snatching the envelope up and inspecting it before Molly could. The elegant writing was familiar in a way that made chills trace down Fred's arms. Hermione.

"Fred, give that here, or I'll have your ears." Molly demanded, her grease-stained palm outstretched purposefully. Fred innocently shook it about, his fingers seconds from tearing back the seal, but he slowly submitted, remembering George's words. After Molly scanned it, she handed it over to Ron, who eagerly excepted the letter with bright eyes. Ah, Ronald. Fred looked upon his little brother, wondering if deep down, there laid some competition with his younger sibling. Hermione didn't like Ron "that way", or so she had said, but still…Ron wasn't as much of a git as Fred often painted him for…

"She's coming next Friday, then?" Ron asked, a small smile on his mouth.

"Well, we'll have some cleaning to do, then. The Burrow is a pigsty, and-"

"Mum, that's really unfair of you. We haven't had the pigs in the house in- what, two weeks?" George asked, touching his chest as though mortally wounded by his mother's accusing words. Though this normally would have been Fred's cue to pick up the banter, his mind had wandered elsewhere. Hermione would be here in a little over a week…and then…he'd have a hard time getting her to himself. She'd be with Ron and Harry, he's be with George, so what would be the point of him even looking forward to her arrival? No, that wouldn't work at all. He'd have to figure something else out.

"I think I'll go into town tonight." He mused aloud, and his mother looked at him sharply.

"Absolutely not. You have your apparition test in two days, and-"

"And George and I have been studying so hard that I think we deserve a bit of a break, don't you? You wouldn't want our brains to overload before the test. I mean, if we fail, you and dad will just have to pay for us to retake it." Fred reasoned with an offhanded shrug. While Ron and Ginny stalked into the house, Molly and George looked back and forth, George's freckled face appearing guiltless and agreeable; Molly's face being an image of indecisiveness. At long last, she consented, and Fred and George headed for their room.

"Fred-"

"George."

"Look, Fred-"

"_George_." Fred paused in mid-step, and turning to his brother, placed his hands onto his shoulders. "Look, it's nothing, alright? I just, you know, want to-"

"It's up to you mate." George said simply, but Fred still saw the distance in his companion's eyes as they continued their trek up the Burrow's main stairs. Fred knew that George was concerned for all the right reasons: if Molly found out…if Ron found out…if Fred kept on shirking his joke shop duties…

The plan was coming together perfectly. To blow off time that could be spent boiling promising concoctions or formulating new products for not just any girl- but for Hermione Granger- well, Fred knew he would be in hot water if he didn't watch himself. Hermione was Hermione, but George…George was George. Best friend, brother, comrade, twin. He couldn't sacrifice one for the other. Not to mention, there was the constant threat of you-know-who hovering over everyone's heads. Molly and Arthur had grown increasingly on-edge since the attack at Hogwarts, when Cedric had been killed. Even now, it pained Fred to remember the pallid face of his acquaintance held in Harry's arms. But that was in the past. Now was now, then was then. Then there was the Order...

But it hadn't come to that yet, he thought to himself as he pulled his shirt over his head, looking for a fresher one. Not yet. For now, he could take the chance to see Hermione in her natural environment: settled in her muggle suburbia with her dentist parents.


	13. Stupid, Stupid Fred

Note: It's been forever, I know. But here it is- I got a random HP urge today and typed this fluffy bit up as a filler between GOF and OOTP fics. I'm sad to say that things get a lot more complicated after this. Fluffiness will ensue, but at a price. :) And yes, I enjoy being evil, don't judge me. Let me know what you guys think of the new addition and if you still want it to be continued...(because otherwise, I might not take the time. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't have a lot of it to go around)

Disclaimer: HP and characters don't belong to me, and any direct script references are property of WB.

* * *

Brown slacks, jeans, knit sweater, white dress top…why was it that every bit of clothing Hermione owned seemed so boring? The lopsided pyramid of shirts and bottoms on her neatly made bed put a twisting scowl on her face as she sighed, closed her dresser drawer, and plopped down in the overstuffed reading chair in the corner of her room.

She had one whole week before she had to really start packing for the Burrow, but just like when it came time to return to Hogwarts, she couldn't wait to pull out her trunk and load it to its brim. She didn't want to forget anything.

But it was more than that this year. This year, she had someone that she actually wanted to pack nice things for.

Hermione scowled again. Stupid Fred. Stupid, stupid, Fred. Stupid freckles, stupid red hair, stupid cute little lopsided grin that could always get to her. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling so hard that she let out a quiet "ouch!". Stupid Fred.

"Hermione, lights out!" Hermione's mum called. Hermione's eyes shifted to the clock at her bedside table. 9:59. Her mum always called up at exactly 9:59- that left Hermione one minute to crawl beneath her covers and turn over her lamp before her father would pass by her bedroom door and make sure that there was no light escaping from beneath it.

Usually Hermione would read with her wand for another hour before really falling asleep. Her parents knew it, so she couldn't feel guilty about breaking the rules, but regardless…it was a never-ending routine in their house, an unspoken agreement that by 9:59, all overhead lights and lamps were turned off. It was one of the many reasons that Hermione was itching to get out of the house and back into the wizarding world. She loved her parents, but the normalness of it all was enough to even make her- perfectly normal Hermione (with the exception of being a witch)- twitchy.

It took a great deal of effort not to fold all of her shirts as she pushed the pyramid of inside-out clothes off of her knitted quilt. She would get to them in the morning. She only had forty seconds left before her dad would pass by.

Tap. Tap. Tap. A branch knocked against her bedroom window, rocked by the wind of the summer rainstorm brewing outside. Hermione leaned up and switched off her lamp, and Hermione's golden reflection disappeared from her bedroom window. Without the glare from her lamp, she could see outside, into the blue night sky and the fog.

There was someone at her window.

Hermione shrieked, grabbed her wand out from beneath her pillow, and pulled her blanket up over her head, trying to get her wits about her. With all that had happened at the end of last school year- Voldemort's return being foremost on her mind- she could imagine all sorts of horrors prowling outside of her window, wanting to get in and talk to the girl who was one of Harry Potter's best friends. What should she do? Her dad had a handgun…but that wouldn't be enough…no. She was going to have to break the wizarding decree for the restriction of underage wizardry. How else could she protect her family.

Counting to three silently, Hermione clenched her eyes closed and then threw back her covers, jumping out of bed and extending her wand, ready to fire.

Outside her window, lightning flashed, and a soggy red-haired boy blinked in at her, scowling.

FRED?!

Hermione dropped her wand and stumbled over her quilt, feet tangled. Her stomach felt like it had exploded with tickling fire, licking her insides. Fred- here. Why? Why now, for goodness's sake, WHY?

"Hermione? Everything alright in there?" The shadow of her dad's feet hovered in the hallway light beneath her door. She could barely breathe as she looked back at the window, seeing that Fred was getting ready to pry it open with what looked like something he had stolen from her mother's garden.

"Er- yes- yes, fine, totally fine," she wildly gestured at Fred, who paused and glared at her, gesturing to the rain that was pouring all around him, soaking him to the bone. Making a pleading face, Hermione added, "I just tripped trying to turn off the lamp. I'm fine, dad, really, good night!"

She waited, silently praying as she stared at her father's shadow. After a moment, the hallway light turned off, and she heard his footsteps carrying down the hall and into her parents' bedroom. Their door squeaked closed, and Hermione let out a breath and hurried to the window.

She opened the window quietly, trying to ignore Fred, who was waiting in the tree next to the house, shivering. As she lifted the glass pane up, a wind lashed through her curtains and pushed fresh rain into her face, blinding her. She stepped back and made room for Fred, feeling ill with her jittery, elated nerves.

Fred grunted as he let himself in and eased the window down. After a pause, he turned around to face her, smile wide.

"Hello, Hermione."

"Fred, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione hissed as her nerves were overcome by her good sense. "If my parents knew you were here, I'd be grounded from going to the Burrow, do you know that? How did you get here? You didn't fly, did you? You know you're not supposed to ride your broomstick out in the open- wait- tell me you didn't apparate! Fred! Tell me!"

She felt her neck crawling with warmth as he silently smiled down at her, watering dripping off his long nose.

"Do you want to put some pants on first?" he slyly asked, scanning her bare legs beneath her mid-thigh length knight shirt. Refusing to let him get the best of her, Hermione glared sternly at him, marched over to her dresser, and yanked out a pair of plaid boxer shorts.

"Turn around, please." She ordered tersely, and he obliged. She quickly yanked the shorts up and then returned to him, sitting on her bed nervously. "Now explain."

"Well, it's good to see you too, love," he chuckled as he shook out his hair like a wet dog. Hermione flinched as the water found her face, but she noticed his haircut, and she couldn't help but inwardly remark how cute it looked.

"Fred, please, I'm a little bit concerned that you broke the law to get here, and I think that should come before anything else. How did you get here?"

"I took a bus."

"Where'd you get the muggle money?"

"I robbed a bank." As Hermione readied her stern face, Fred rolled his eyes and added, "For pity's sake, Hermione, I got it exchanged at Gringnotts earlier today. What's wrong with you?"

"What wrong with me? What's wrong with me?" Hermione shrilly asked, leaping to her feet and shoving him in the chest. "Fred, you come to my window at night and scare the sense out of me after not writing to me all summer, and you expect me to what? Invite you in behind my parents' backs and make you a cup of tea?"

"That'd be lovely, thanks. And while we're at it, you can tell me what the bloody hell you mean," Fred said quietly, and his gray eyes were filled with irritation. "You told me not to write you, remember? Because we're waiting." He said the last word in a whining, mocking voice that was obviously supposed to imitate her. Hermione's blood seemed to boil as she pulled her hands into fists and glowered at him.

"Yes, we are, so what are you doing here?"

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

"That's not the point!"

"So you are."

"Well, yes, but-"

"See? How hard was that?" Fred's voice softened, and Hermione took a terrified step back from him as he drew closer, seeming ready to reach for her hand. Had he no respect for what they had discussed at the end of the school year? For all he knew, she could be uninterested in him, yet he had the pride and the gall to assume that she still fancied him as much as he did her. It shouldn't have made her happy, but it did, and she fought to return his smile, feeling her anger ebb away.

"Please, Fred, if you just came here to make me feel worse for how we left off, you have to go. My dad-"

"Is a muggle, and in two days, I will be able to hex the hate right out of him. Why don't I charm the old fellow? You know I could. He can't be any worse than you." Fred peeled of his wet jacket, revealing a gray and red striped tee, and threw himself onto her bed. Hermione grimaced, waiting for the hallway light to turn on, but the house remained dark and silent.

"For starters, he's in bed, probably trying to sleep. That's why you have to go…if he finds you, Fred, I won't be allowed to go to the Burrow…he'll think that we're…that you and I…that we…"

Fred lifted himself onto his elbows and surveyed her, lifting an eyebrow that seemed to make Hermione's stomach squeeze together in giddy pleasure. She hated that he could still make her feel that way after not talking with her for a month.

"That we're what? Snogging? Well, maybe we should, just in case he catches us. I'd hate for him to be misinformed."

Hermione had to get her logic back, but it seemed that it had been blown away with the wind that Fred had let in with him. She had to force him to go, as her old self would have done, and demand that he only return by daylight, if at all. She couldn't risk her parents' trust and her integrity this way…but for Fred, sweet, funny, charming Fred, it was tempting.

And yes, if she could, she'd snog him right now. But that was a whole other sticky story that brought of memories from last year.

"Please, Fred?" Hermione asked, voice quiet, soft, and convincing. "I'm glad to see you, but if you respect me at all…I need you to go."

Fred paused before lowering himself back onto her bed, looking thoughtful in a way that Hermione couldn't remember him looking before. It wasn't like his devious planning or his deep, revealing moments, it was something else…something that ashamedly made her feel like she had injured him with her words.

"You know, we won't really be able to spend any time together after this," Fred said quietly, as though thinking out loud. As he spoke, he lifted himself from her bed and made to retrieve his damp coat from her floor, approaching the window. "Ron and Harry and George will be around…my parents…we'll never be alone. That's all I was thinking. See you on Friday, 'Mione."

Hermione watched him push the window up with the sleek strength of his beater's arms, and something in her itched, wanting him to stay. He was right. They would have no time to be together after this…even if it was just as friends, nothing more official. Maybe that was worth the risk.

"Fred!" she said for what felt the hundredth time. Fred paused and looked at her, one foot out the window, smiling as though he already knew that he had won the fight.

Hermione sighed through her teeth and hesitantly said, "Close the window. You're letting in a draft."

Fred grinned and obliged. As he turned his back to her, she frantically combed her fingers through her hair and then pinched her cheeks till they hurt. She wasn't sure what good it would do or even what It was for- but she had seen Lavender do it on more than one occasion, and she always seemed put-together enough to suit the boys.

"You must be freezing," she hummed thoughtfully as she noticed his damp shirt sticking against his skin, shaping his lean body. Fred shrugged and watched her as she headed to her closet and pulled out one of her white towels, tossing it to him. It wasn't much, but she didn't want to risk sneaking out of her room to retrieve a full-sized towel from the bathroom down the hall- it was much too close to her parents' room.

Watching as Fred scrubbed down his goose-pimpled arms, Hermione crawled back onto her bed and pulled her blanket over her legs, shivering. For summertime, this storm was strangely cold and dark.

"How have you been?" she asked uncomfortably as she realized how strange it was that Fred Weasley was here in her bedroom in the middle of summer.

"Fine. A lot has happened."

"I know."

"You know we're going to Sirius's house, right?"

Hermione thought over this, piecing together his news with the letter she had gotten from Molly Weasley. That made sense. If she remembered correctly, Sirius had inherited a plot of land in London. But why were they going there? It couldn't be any safer than the Burrow, which was far more secluded than the inner city.

"Oh?" she merely said as he pulled off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trousers. "What for?"

"It'll be headquarters, from what I hear, for the new Order of the Phoenix."

"The what?"

"Dumbledore's league against you-know-who. Mum, Dad, Snape, McGonagal, Sirius, Remus, and some others who are undercover in the ministry. Right now they're working on getting Harry in safely…but it could be a matter of weeks…"

Hermione listened and absorbed what he was saying, really she did, but she was also distracted by his presence as he sat on the bed beside her and accidentally brushed her warm knee with his cold one as he got situated. Fred seemed to catch on to her distraction, and his voice trailed off.

"Hermione, I've been thinking about telling mum about us."

Hermione nearly gasped. "Why?"

"Because I fancy you enough to date you, and I'd like to, to be honest, but I can't until people know. What's stopping us?"

"A lot!" Hermione exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, heart thundering in her ears. "I mean, if you think about it-"

"I've thought about it all summer," Fred retorted just as the wind began to pick up outside. "And the way I see it, the only reason we aren't dating is because of what others are going to think. But you know what? They can only think something bad for so long, and I wouldn't give a damn even if they thought it forever."

Hermione quietly cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ears, thinking, not wanting to remind him that the reason they weren't dating wasn't about other people- it was about them, and the fact that they had decided that they couldn't date, not right now, anyways. She wished she felt differently- but right now, she knew that her decision to wait had been the right one. Being with Fred would be ten times better if she waited till it was the right time.

"I don't think that matters," she began quietly, trying not to meet his pretty gray eyes. "I'm really glad you feel the way you do, but Fred, I still mean what I said last month. There's too much to think about and worry about as it is."

She finally lifted her eyes and was torn to see that Fred visibly deflated before her, slumping his shoulders, dropping his gaze. Still, he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, shrugging.

"I figured you'd say that. But I know better than to argue with you on this…I just thought I'd try it." He paused. "And we can still snog, if you like."

Hermione scowled as he batted his eyelashes at her, but as she opened her mouth to retort, she found her words drying up in her throat. Why not kiss Fred just once more? It was innocent enough, and if they felt for each other, what was wrong with it? No. The logical Hermione fought the emotional one. She couldn't play with his or her feelings like that- it was too hard as it was. Kissing him, even if just a small peck on the lips, would only endanger her feelings by making them grow, and she couldn't afford that just yet.

Emotional Hermione fought back hard. He was smiling down at his lip, grinning crookedly as he did so often, and his damp bangs fell in front of his eyes like a soft curtain. She wanted to push them away and stare at his face, but to keep herself from acting out, she tucked her hands beneath her legs.

She couldn't. She couldn't kiss him just once and then spend the entire summer with him only to never kiss him again.

But why not? She remembered his kisses, soft but strong, and the way that his long nose usually touched her small one. She wanted to steal another one, or even better, have one stolen from her.

Fidgeting cautiously, Hermione adjusted her legs and slid closer to Fred, drawing his eyes as her hands innocently grazed his. She knew he could read her all too well, and it bothered her as much as ever, as much as it terrified her the night that he saw through her not-so-innocent kisses in the house-elf kitchen. What did he think of her now? Hermione suddenly wanted to cry. It didn't seem fair that life could be this confusing, and she was only sixteen, after all.

It didn't help that Fred, in his complete wonderfulness, was all too willing to wrap his arms around her and give her a hug to soothe her unspoken worries.

"You're the strangest girl I've ever met." He concluded into her brown curls with a chuckle that made her ear tickle. Hermione bit her lower lip.

"This would be hard for any girl! It's not just me!" She objected and tried to pull out of his reassuring hug, but he resisted, locking his hands together so she was forced to remain close to him.

"I don't believe it. I've known plenty of girls, and you're the only who changes her mind at least five times about everything," Fred insisted, tipping his head back to look down at her, grinning mischievously at her useless struggle against his hold. "I'd hate to see you try to get dressed in the morning," he said and eyed her clothes on the floor. "Actually, scratch that. I think I'd quite like it."

"Fred!" Exasperated, Hermione sighed and gave up, tiredly resting her forehead down against his chest. Suddenly, the moment seemed too perfect. They had never had this long of a time to just enjoy each other's company without something going wrong or an argument arising, and Hermione nearly wished something would go wrong, so that she didn't have to worry about the fact that everything seemed so right.

She kissed him. It was quick, quiet, and soft, but it was perfect, and Fred eyes flickered closed for a split second, overtaken.

"'Spose I'd better get going," he mumbled with a sigh, opening his eyes as though it hurt him.

"Why?" Hermione asked, surprised at herself. She quickly corrected herself, "I mean, yes, you really should, my parents could wake up at any second and then-" her voice trailed off as Fred stood up once more. She began to get up to see him to the window, but he held up a hand and gently shoved her back onto her bed, where she stayed.

Smiling down at her in a disarming way, he leaned down till his nose touched hers, mumbling against her mouth, "I'll see you on Friday, Granger." Hermione tried to kiss him again, but he leaned away with a teasing smirk and turned to face the window.

"Fred!" she said as he slipped on his cold, wet jacket. He turned his chin slightly and glanced over his shoulder at her. Hermione chewed her lower lip. "Stay with me."

"What?" Astounded, Fred dropped his coat and turned to face her, white face flushed with wonder. Hermione rushed to explain, "I mean…just that. Stay here. It's storming too bad for you to travel all the way back…I'll get you some blankets…you can stay on the floor. My parents will be up early for work and never come in to see me off."

Hermione could tell that Fred was caught off guard, and she felt proud of herself, if not a little ashamed at her own boldness. But it was logic, not emotion, that was on her side this time. Fred really couldn't be trusted to travel back the Burrow in this nasty storm, he'd catch a cold, and she'd feel bad about it. No, this would be easier for the both of them, and besides...she liked the idea of having him so close.

Fred looked ready to object, but he pursed his thin lips and withheld a grin that Hermione knew meant that he thought he had won some sort of challenge. He shrugged his agreement and pushed his coat to the side with his foot.

It was hard to gather enough blankets from the living room without rousing her parents, but Hermione had had so much practice sneaking around with Ron and Harry that she wasn't too worried. She slipped back into her bedroom, lighting the path at her feet with her wand, and closed the door at her back, gasping.

Fred's white skin shone in the wandlight as he stalked by her shirtlessly, ringing out his jacket and hanging it from her doorknob. Hermione thrust the blankets at his chest as though to cover him up, and Fred chuckled, lowering them back down just to tease her.

"You can sleep over there," Hermione pointed to the far wall, but Fred stepped around her and began to lay his blankets down just between the bed and the window. Hermione watched him, trying not to regret her rash invitation, and then crawled into her bed. Her blankets were a little soggy where Fred had been sitting, and she shivered.

When Fred had finished making a bed, he undid the top button of his pants and laid down on his back, hands tucked supportively behind his head. Hermione rolled over to face away from him, not wanting to feel watched. Even then, she felt his open eyes, and she couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she was sharing her bedroom with Fred Weasley. Her face felt hot against her pillow; she smothered a smile, hating herself for being a girl.

Finally, she settled on rolling back over, setting her cheek on the edge of her mattress so she could peer innocently down at Fred.

His eyes were finally closed, and his breathing had slowed, but he still seemed to be awake. As she stared at him, his eyelids fluttered, and he returned her gaze, grinning a closed-lipped smile. Hermione let her hand slide over the side of her bed; Fred took it and held it against his chest in his hand.

Hermione was sure she had already fallen asleep…this was too good not to be a dream.


	14. Accidentally Coy

**Author's Note: Umm..**

**Don't know what made me want to do this now, after a year hiatus. :)**

**It's a quick one, just another filler, but I needed it before I ever move to OOTP. Thanks for still following.**

* * *

Fred blinked; his vision was fuzzy, his mouth full of cotton. He smacked his lips. His bed had never felt so uncomfortable before…had he fallen off it in the middle of the night? That made sense. He _was_ on the floor.

No, that couldn't be right. The floor was carpeted.

Sitting up and running a confused, dull hand through the roots of his cropped red hair, Fred glanced around to gain his bearings, and the night before came flooding through his mind as though someone had flipped on a light. The certificates and ribbons hanging in neat array on the wall, declaring "First Place", "Top Student", and "Winner" glittered at him, reminding him just whose floor he was strewn across.

His gray eyes shifted to the bed at his left. Already made. Empty. The clothes that had been littered all over creation the night before were stacked in neat squares against the wall.

"Hermione?" Fred called, voice hoarse. He rolled his tired eyes to her petite oak nightstand, and his attention zeroed in on the blinking red letters of her rather strange clock. It was…what would dad call it? Digital? Something like that. The obnoxious numbers screamed at him, pulsing, 10:39, 10:39, 10:39, 10:40.

Leaping up with a strangled curse, Fred tripped across Hermione's room, searching blindly for his shirt and jacket. It was gray and drizzly outside. Bleak…and most certainly foreshadowing Molly Weasley's relentless wrath when he came home. Tomorrow morning was his apparition test- and though studying had hardly been on his agenda for the day, that's what he had told her.

"Bloody…Hermione!" Fred hollered, now desperate. Half dressed and disoriented, he pushed into the modern hallway, thrown even more by the unfamiliarity of its vacuumed beige carpets and its flowery smell, and tumbled right into the wall.

"Oh- oh, good morning!" Hermione shouted from somewhere downstairs. "I was just cooking some breakfast, would you-"

"No time for breakfast!" Fred took the polished stairs three at a time with his long legs and slid a good four feet on the rug at the stairwell's bottom. He twisted about to face her voice and stopped, dumbstruck, to see her wielding a long glass dish full of some sort of savory breakfast casserole in oversized oven mitts. The glass-topped dining table on the other side of the kitchen counter was arranged for a full meal. The glasses full of orange juice were still streaked with beads of fresh condensation. "Oh," was all Fred could say to Hermione's downfallen face.

Hermione quickly drew herself up and set the casserole back atop of the oven, "No, no, don't worry about it. I should have known. You-"

"I have my apparition test tomorrow," he told her simply.

He should have known better than to go that route. Hearing this news, Hermione's lovely brown eyes widened dramatically, and she gasped, covering her mouth with one of her ridiculously huge mitts. "You should have told me!" she scolded. "You should be studying! I would've woken you or, no, better, I would have sent you home! I'm so sorry Fred!" By the scandalized sound of her voice, she would feel personally responsible if he passed his test with less than high marks.

It was this adorably ridiculous side of Hermione that made Fred pause, shirtless, to stare at her. He wanted to breathe her in, taste the loveliness that was her personality, just sit with her on that porch swing he had spied in his ascent to her room last night, anything. He leaned an elbow against the doorframe and smiled as she tried in vain to untie the apron laced around her waist without the use of individual fingers- why she didn't just take the mittens off, he didn't know. It might have something to do with that flustered look she sometimes got around him. He liked that he had that affect on her. Things would hardly be the same if he wasn't keeping her on her toes…after all, that had been his promise to her, in a way.

"Oh, um," Hermione finally met his gaze again. Her face flushed. "Your clothes are in the dryer."

"The huh?"

"In the pantry. Oh, here, I'll show you."

Finally yanking off her mitts, Hermione slid by Fred, careful to avoid any and all contact with him, and opened a sliding wicker door at his back. A large white square device rattled and hummed in the small closet's corner. She stepped to it, pushed a button that paused its noise, and opened a door to reveal his red and gray striped shirt and his jacket, dry and fresh as if his mum had just pulled them off the charmed clothesline with her wand.

Feeling a faint- _very _faint- trace of guilt, Fred took his clothes from Hermione and with one hand, jerked his shirt down over his head. "Will everything be alright? With your mum and dad?"

"Fine, Fred, just fine," Hermione snapped as she pressed by him, seeming less averse to him now that his bare chest was covered. Fred chuckled when she added, "Now you should hurry. If I had known your test was tomorrow-!"

"Hermione," Fred snatched up her wrist, delighted when her cheeks turned pink again, "you know I'm not going to study. I just don't want mum thinking some Death Eater found me and-" he let his voice wane when the pink of her face lightened to white, and her eyes tightened around their edges, as they only did when she was frightened.

They stared at each other for a long moment. The mention of Death Eaters, the reminder of what was hanging over their heads, a storm cloud waiting to break, was sobering, even to Fred. Not because he worried for himself…in fact, more than anything, he worried for the person about an arm's length away from him. The only one in this moment he _could_ protect.

And yet the moment he walked out her front door…he would have to pretend that that wasn't the case. That Hermione Granger didn't have him completely and totally wound around her wand. Until they returned to Hogwarts and found secret corridors to stroll down again, this was it. He didn't know why, but that thought made him frown. He was rarely a pessimist; he and George were both choosers, they chose to see the best in things, to make light of the dark.

But right now, in his mind, things were very dark. He felt…call him superstitious, but he felt like something was going to happen soon. This year at Hogwarts, things would be different. He didn't know why; maybe it had to do with his and George's booming joke shop business, so promising, making the remainder of his Hogwarts education almost moot. He'd rather it that, than it be something to do with Hermione. With losing her.

In the long pause, he hadn't even realized how close she had scooted to him in her innocent, unassuming way. He could smell her, almost graze the top of her head with the bottom of his chin.

"Friday?" she said quietly, and raised a very hesitant hand, laying it over his heart.

Fred grinned. "Friday." Then, acting on a whim (why not? He and George were good at whims. Weasley Wizard Whims? It had a certain ring to it…but still need tampering before they patented it…), he leaned down, tilted his head sideways, and gently placed his lips to hers, his eyes still open, watching hers for a reaction. Like she was one of the joke shop experiments.

The not-quite-scientific result was…surprising. Hermione's eyes flickered closed, and then her arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her so quickly that he almost lurched forward. He put his palms on the counter at either side of her and started laughing into the kiss before she could let herself go any further.

"Well well," he said as she embarrassedly pulled back and straightened out the front of her shirt, her face on fire, a bright beacon red. "That _does_ beat studying."

Hermione scowled at that. "It was just...to say…goodbye." Fred felt his face go slack as he registered her words. "I mean, just for a while, Fred. Until we figure things out for good."

"Right." Again with the changing mind thing. Kiss him, then remind him they were waiting. Kiss him, then say goodbye. The girl was like a love potion with a serious looping defect.

"I'm sorry I did that."

"No you aren't."

"I-I guess you're right. But I'm sorry if it hurt you."

"Hurt me? You didn't kiss me that hard."

"You know what I mean, Fred!"

Grinning lopsidedly, Fred shrugged, snatched up a muffin from a basket on the Granger's counter, and jogged out the front door without a backward glance at Hermione's final flustered, "Goodbye, then!"

But this _wasn't_ goodbye, he swore to himself as he headed for the terminal a mile south of the Granger's done-up lot, blinking against the drizzle. He chomped into the muffin before it could get soggy. This was just a warm up in preparation for a full-bodied year of George, the joke shop, and the accidentally-coy Hermione Granger.

And yes; she did have him wrapped completely and totally around her wand.


	15. To Grapple with the Whomping Willow

**Um.**

**Happy one year check-in, everyone?**

**Did anyone else feeling like carving their hearts out of their chest with a rusty spoon after DH?**

**Took me a while to get back into the flow with this one, but I do like how it turned out. I think at this rate, I'll be done with this whole story (which will go right up to the end of DH) in about 10 years. Is anyone still awake out there? Fremione, Fremione?**

**Thank you for those who are still +favoriting after all this time and lack of updates.**

**Disclaimer: I would take Fred Weasley if Jo Rowling gave him to me, but until then, him, Hermione, Crookshanks, and all of our friends are hers.**

"Mum, where're my trousers? They're not where I left them!"

"Check the banister—"

"Molly, Ginny's misplaced her bag, and she's sure she left it in the kitchen—"

"It's on the stairs. Ron, for goodness sake, put a comb through your hair, it looks like something Erol got into."

_BOOM._ Dust flitted down from the ceiling, and Ron, Molly, and Arthur Weasley all looked up at the Burrow's caulked ceiling with varying levels of annoyance. As another boom rumbled the floors of the house, Mrs. Weasley's usually pleasant face (well, maybe not _usually_) turned a frightening shade of red.

Before she had the pleasure of screaming even one shrill note, Fred and George _popped_ into existence between her and Mr. Weasley, who leaped and abruptly turned his yelp into a cough.

"Just a small Wild Fire Whiz Bang—"

"Nothing to be alarmed over—"

"Left the window perfectly intact—"

"And Ginny's eyebrows will grow back—just kidding."

They should've known better, of course. Today wasn't the sort of day to put a toe over Molly Weasley's invisible but very dangerous line. After weeks of planning, the Weasleys were moving into the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix…the anti-you-know-who-and-company band, if you will. Fred had seen Grimmauld Place once, just in passing, when him and George had tailed Arthur into London. A ramshackle old manor with all the comforts of home, minus the ghoul in the attic and the gnomes in the garden, though Fred was sure it had its own peculiarities to make up for what it lacked.

On top of all the feverish running-around of gathering up all their school things and clothes and necessities…there was Percy to remember. Percy the Fallen Prefect. Fred couldn't remember a time when he'd wanted to send a bludger Perce's way more. Mum cried a lot more than she yelled nowadays, and it had thrown the Burrow's whole rhythm out of sync.

The whole thing was sitting in the bottom of Fred's stomach like an undigested meal. Was he angry? Did Ron scream like a girl when you put spiders down his shirt? (The answer to that was yes.) But he was also…that is, it just felt _wrong_, knowing they were one Weasley down at a time like this.

Grimmauld Place was as dingy inside as it promised from the outside. The carpets all had a sort of musky smell, there were cobwebs draped from candle chandeliers high overhead, the banister of the winding staircase was caked in dust…the disrepair went on and on. The place had real promise. Plus, there was room enough for Fred and George to continue growing their joke stock.

There was one thing missing.

And she would be here in just three days.

* * *

Not for the first time, Fred casually stood from where he'd been crouched with George beside their stained old cauldron, wandered to the window of their room, and peered down at the road. Nothing but muggles and rain.

When he turned around, George was giving him the "you-must-be-joking" eye. Fred promptly returned his withering stare with a "give-it-a-rest" look.

"Look," George sighed, dropping a sheath of shredded bullhorn into their glubbing potion, "you know I think this whole Hermione thing is great bordering on insane. I've had to cover for you with Ron twice already, and she's not even here yet. You've got to focus, mate."

"George, George, George." Plopping down on the floor again, Fred began helping his twin add random ingredients to their latest endeavor, a treat (treat might not be the most accurate word, as the thing would hardly be a treat to taste) to grow facial hair. They'd gotten the idea from their run-in with the goblet of fire last year. "I _am_ focused. So focused, in fact, that if I don't stem the flow of my focus into an outlet, I'm liable to make too much potential of myself."

"You just put the paper wrapper from that fluxweed into the cauldron. How focused can you be?"

"Bloody hell." As the Two-Second Beard Fix began to boil angrily, Fred used his wand to stir about in the potion and drag up the half-melted wrapper. He was arguing this point with George because the fact was….he knew George was right. And admitting that would be admitting that he was wrong, that he needed to redirect his focus, that he needed to change.

Well, what if he didn't want to change? There wasn't any kind of written code that said he wasn't allowed to think about a girl he fancied just like any other person would, even if that girl was Hermione Granger, top-of-her-class, rule-honoring know-it-all…that his younger brother Ron…happened to be secretly in love with…

He was in trouble. Deep, Hogwarts-Lake Deep trouble.

George must have seen something on his face, or maybe he just picked up on the air around Fred with his invisible feelers that as twins, they were blessed (and occasionally cursed) with. "Fred…"

Fred glanced up warily; George's voice had hit that rare serious note. As he measured off some sneezewort into a spoon held level with his eyes, he asked, "Are you sure Hermione is…how can I put this delicately…."

"Delicately?" Fred's eyebrows rose in alarm at the word.

George smirked. "You're right, it can't be done. It's just, are you sure Hermione is really interested in you? I mean, interested enough to wait around?"

"She's the one who wants to do the waiting, and I'm the one who's doing it," Fred pointed out. Of course Hermione was interested in him. I mean, if George wanted proof, there was the blushing, the stammering, the kissing, which wasn't exactly platonic, after all. But Fred didn't go into those details, not because he wasn't willing to, but because George had already mentioned that thinking of Fred and Hermione kissing made him feel slightly queasy. And there _was_ the conversation he and Hermione had had in her bedroom a few weeks ago, where he'd told her he'd like to date her, and she'd more or less said no, thank you. He hadn't felt rejected at the time. Now he wondered if that's what it had been, rejection. Hmm.

George made a thoughtful sound and dropped the sneezewort into the Beard Fix. Now Fred was picking up something—the invisible feelers at work again. George wasn't just bothered about Fred's habits of late…he was worried…_really_ worried. As worried as George ever got. Maybe, also, a little uneasy? Or wait. The invisible feelers inspected the wrinkle between George's eyebrows and the stiff hunch in his shoulders and made Fred think that that wasn't uneasiness, it was annoyance.

"Would you quit acting like such a nancy and just tell me what you're thinking? I can only read your mind _sometimes_, you know."

"Fine," George said evenly, jaw tight. He threw some powdered toadstool into the cauldron a little harder than was necessary. "What about the joke shop?"

"What about the joke shop?"

"Are you giving up on it, or what?"

Staring blankly at George as if he'd spoken ogre, Fred blinked. "So it's a matter of choosing between Hermione and…the joke shop?" He'd nearly said Hermione _and you_, but that couldn't possibly be what George meant, the idea was too laughable. George had a sort of irrevocable station in Fred's life, and vice versa. Having a girl wouldn't change that one whit. Did George really think they were going to stay bachelors all their lives? Girls had to come into play somewhere, preferably while things were still…er…functional.

Then Fred realized what he had thought. Bachlor. Which implied singleness. And could also imply a bloke's last stretch before he took the plunge. The marriage plunge.

Speaking of plunging, Fred suddenly felt as if he'd been dropped off the side of the Bulgarian's ship again; his stomach dropped. No one was talking marriage. I mean, they were still in school and so young and there was the joke shop and George and Ron and Hermione's dentist parents and Fred hadn't even been to Rome yet and he'd always wanted to and…

"It's a matter of choosing your priorities," George mumbled, but Fred barely heard him.

Hermione didn't think they were going to get married someday, did she? That's not why she was taking things so slow, was it? She wasn't—she wasn't—

"Bloody hell, Fred, what's wrong?" George suddenly asked, dropping his wand as the annoyance dropped from his face. He leaned forward, searching Fred's suddenly slack face. "You've gone as pale as The Bloody Baron. You're not going to sick up, are you? Because the cauldron's kind of full already."

Waving away his worry, Fred shook his head and tried to work some feeling back into his stomach. He was imaging things. He fancied Hermione, and she fancied him, and they liked being together, and they _should_ be together. No one was bringing the M word of doom into play.

But he couldn't stop thinking…about Ginny always scrawling "Ginny Potter" on her parchment, about how Fleur Delacour had said to Mrs. Weasley after her and Bill had seen each other twice, "I do think, if Bill and I are married, we will have beautiful children"…girls _did_ seem to have a strange affinity with the idea of getting married, didn't they?

"Don't worry, George," said Fred as he stretched out a still rather numb hand and plunked the final ingredient into their now grotesquely-green potion. "My priorities are as straight as—"

"Wait, wait, not the boomslang—" George shouted an instant too late.

The room erupted with horrible green fog that hissed as it curled through the air. It stung Fred's face like a hundred tiny insects, made his eyes well up, and all too quickly brought the feeling back into his suddenly-churning stomach.

"The window! Open the window!" George shouted, diving for his wand, which was barely visible through the fog. Fred dumbly groped at the window, undid the lock, and tried to force it upward, but it had been painted in place and wouldn't give.

"Jammed!"

"Duck!" Coughing, George shot a spell at the window, but doubled up hacking, his aim was a little off. It hit Fred behind his knee, which buckled and capsized and sent him sprawling on his stomach with a curse that would made Molly Weasley haul him around by his ear.

"Just…get….to…the door…." Fred started crawling on his stomach toward freedom, George laboring to do the same as the strange billowing fog attacked all five of their senses.

Just as they reached the door, taking turns yelling at each other to crawl faster, the door sprung open, someone shouted in alarm while someone else shouted an unfamiliar spell…and then the fog was miraculously gone, though the terrible rotten-cabbage taste of it was still lingering in the air.

Gasping for air, Fred rolled onto his back, tipped his head backward, and peered up at Hermione and Ron, who were staring into the room, the former with a look of worry slash sternness, the later with a grin that split his freckled face in two. Hermione looked very pretty.

Or at least, Fred would have thought so if he wasn't suddenly paranoid that she was drawing up the guest list for their wedding and trying to decide whether his bowtie should be plum or mauve.

"Well," George began as he got to his feet, fanning a hand before his face. "Seems our new stink bomb works like magic."

"That's because it is magic," Fred added, standing, trying to smile a general smile…not one that was focused on Hermione, who was watching him. "It needs a name."

"Should we go for alliteration or candidness?"

"Candidness."

"Bottle of Vomit."

"Too candid. What about The Weasley…hang on, something's coming to me…"

"How about Pong Bomb? I mean, pong means an unpleasant smell, so it works," Hermione timidly suggested, a little bit of pink on the bridge of her nose. When Fred looked at her, the color spread out to the rest of her face; he hoped Ron didn't notice. He hoped George _did_. Was Hermione really interested in him…ha! He'd like to see her go that red for anyone else! Fred was suddenly too pleased to remember to be wary. Who cared if Hermione was planning their wedding? It just meant she fancied him, didn't it? No reason to lose his hair over it. Lots of people planned without really expecting their plans to come to fruit.

Ron was looking at Hermione askance, but Fred and George exchanging an impressed glance that Fred threw a little something else into…smugness. George rolled his eyes.

"You have great potential, Hermione," Fred complimented. It was a chain reaction. He grinned at her, she looked pleased and ducked her chin, he grinned wider, and she grinned back, he started to step toward her—and George held him back with an arm. Good thing, too. Ron was looking a little uneasy, glowering slightly.

Suddenly clearing her throat, Hermione asked Fred and George, "Did you pass your apparition test?"

"They did," Ron answered for them, looking at Fred like the twin still reeked of the Pong Bomb. "They've been popping in and out of everywhere. You wait for it. Just when you think you're alone…"

"You don't like it only because we popped in on you practicing Celestina Warbeck's new number in front of the giant mirror in the upstairs corridor."

"_Oh topaz eyes, sweet topaz eyes,_" Fred mimicked in a falsetto voice, and right on cue, George joined in on the harmony. They began dancing around the mortified Ron and the embarrassed Hermione. "_You've cast a spell, sweet topaz eyes. No need for wands, when you've got eyes that take the prize, sweet topaz eyes_!"

As Fred circled Hermione, he winked at her discreetly—well, he tried to make it discreet, but it was hard to be discreet and totally winning at the same time, you know—and the chain reaction started all over again.

* * *

Fred would've liked to say that the next week was all he had hoped it would be. He would've liked to say that his days were full of perfecting Extendable Ears with George and solidifying the formula behind the Pong Bombs, and that his evenings were full of stealing walks with Hermione down the Place's hidden corridors (known only to George, Sirius, and himself), or trying to convince her to sneak out to explore London with him. But if he said it, it would've been a lie.

True, his days _were_ full of working with George on their joke shop stock, but they were also split between doing work for their mum and trying to find out as much as could be about the happenings of the Order. One was a chore, the other was a challenge. He and George figured, they were of legal age, why shouldn't they be a part of the order? Molly Weasley disagreed. Firmly. As in, I'll-lock-you-in-a-box-and-drop-scorpions-on-you-if-you-ask-again firmly.

And then there were the evenings. Again, Fred would've been lying if he had said that it didn't irk him just a teeny bit that Hermione spent most of her time with Ron. Oh, she spent a lot of it with Ginny too, and that was alright, except that he didn't wanting Ginny putting ideas in her head about doodling Mrs. Hermione Weasley on her class notes. He knew Hermione and Ron had been best friends for going on 4 years now. He also knew that if it had been Harry she was spending all her time with, it would be different. Ron was in love with her; she had to know. Come to think of it, Fred had told her so after the ordeal at the Yule Ball last year—

"_He's crazy about you, though. Has been since your first year_."

Because of all this, Fred was greatly anticipating Harry's arrival. At least then she and Ron wouldn't be alone all the time.

Not that he was worried. It just irked him.

One night, the night before Harry was to be retrieved by the Order to be precise, Fred decided that tonight was going to be his and Hermione's, no Ron, no Ginny, no George (sorry, George), no Crookshanks. No matter what.

It was a dull, stormy night outside, so the inside of Grimmauld Place was darker and dingier-looking than usual, if you can imagine. It had some leaks that Mr. Weasley was seeing to with his wand, wearing a bright yellow parka around the manor. There were very few members of the Order flitting around, just Mrs. Weasley and every once and a while, Tonks, her hair a different color every time she appeared with an update for mum. There was a lot of preparation going into fetching Harry safely, which actually worked in Fred's favor.

George had said he would do Ron duty…after Fred had bribed him with his whole collection of Chocolate Frog Cards and the picture of a winking veela that he'd had since the world cup. He still felt a little sad about parting with that, Hermione or no Hermione.

He waited until after dinner, when mum started on the dishes with Ginny and Hermione headed up to their shared bedroom to do some "last minute homework". He looked over the long table at George and gave him the signal.

George rolled his eyes dramatically before saying to Ron with faked enthusiasm, "Wizard's chess, Ron?"

"Maybe not tonight," Ron said as he picked the last crumbs of his cobbler up with his fingertip. "I've got homework left, too. Potions, mostly. Ruddy Snape."

"Ron!" Molly warned sharply without turning away from the sink. She flicked her wand toward the old wireless sitting on the counter against the wall, and after a crackle and a fizz, the mournful tones of Blodwyn Bludd rolled out of its thatched speakers.

"I'll play you for gnome duty," offered George even less enthusiastically.

Ron brightened. "You're on."

As they began to set up the chess board on the kitchen table, Fred slinked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, climbing silently, taking every step a little quicker than the last. Everything was different, when he and Hermione were with other people. She was more reserved, harder on his and George's jokes, more…Ron's Hermione. Without realizing it, Fred made a face. His Hermione was the bashful one who he saw in his mind's eye wearing oversized ovenmitts, asking him if she was stuffy like she valued his opinion, sprawling with him on the lawn at Hogwarts and laughing as he told her stories about how when Ron was little, he and George used to make him believe that there was really only one of them.

At the top of the stairs, Hermione and Ginny's door was open a sliver; there was ocher lamplight shining through into the dark corridor. Fred grinned. He said he'd keep her on her toes, didn't he? With a little concentration, he apparated, dropped into that space between spaces, that sucking void—

—and landed, standing, on her bed.

Sitting cross legged, leaning against her headboard, Hermione jumped and dropped the book she had had propped on her knees.

"Fred!" she gasped, covering her heart. "You really shouldn't do that, one of these days you're going to—"

Her voice dropped off as he dropped to his knees on the bed, caught up her chin in one hand and kissed her. Impulsively. He knew at once that he'd done something wrong (girls could _always_ find something you'd done wrong), because when something like this had happened a month ago, she hadn't gone all rigid and tense. She'd kissed him back, as a matter of fact.

Fred quickly pulled back to the foot of the bed, leaning his back against one of the four posters. At least she was blushing. Things couldn't be that bad if she was blushing.

"Sorry," he apologized, thinking that maybe she had expected something a little more…formal…out of their first alone-time reunion. "I guess I should have knocked."

"Yes," Hermione said in a thin sort of voice, picking up her book and straightening out a few pages that had gotten dog-eared.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the thunder and rain grumbled unhappily beyond the bedroom's closed wooden shutters. Fred watched Hermione as she compulsively dusted and straightened the quilt where he'd landed on his feet until he thought his lungs might explode if he didn't say something soon.

"Alright, what's up?"

Hermione caught her bottom lip with her teeth, avoiding his eyes. "Nothing."

Another trick Fred had picked up (remember, this wasn't his first time on the pitch)—when a girl said, "Nothing", she really meant, "Please keep asking me until I tell you". So he asked again.

"It's just…" See? "Fred, I don't like keeping things from Ron and Harry." Seeing Fred open his mouth, she cut in, "I know, we don't have an official relationship, so it's not like I'm hiding that from them, but when you kiss me….I just hate having that on my conscience…I don't know….it feels so wrong, keeping a secret like this from them…"

"So," Fred said slowly, "you don't want me to kiss you anymore."

Satisfyingly quick, Hermione said, "No, that's not it."

"So," Fred tried again, fighting a smile at Hermione's despair, "you want to tell them about us."

"Oh, no, I don't think that's a good idea…yet…I just…I just…you haven't really been talking to me much, you know."

Where did _that_ come from? Fred thought this was about kissing. Hermione was moving faster than a snitch. "So you want me to talk to you more and kiss you…but you don't want to keep it secret from Ron and Harry…but you don't want to tell them either. That's…about as clear as mud."

Sighing, Hermione got up off the bed and went to stand by the window, hugging herself. Another thing about Grimmauld's Place: even in the dead of summer, it was as cold as a cave. This was where normally, if Fred was keen on getting in a girl's favor, he'd come over and keep her warm whether by means of offering up his sweater or his body. Jokingly, of course.

Again, Fred waited out Hermione's turbulent emotions, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hermione's side of the bedroom was neat and orderly while Ginny's had the Burrow look to it: lived in.

Suddenly, Hermione swung around, seeming to draw herself up for some terrible task she had to face, and stomped over to him. To say she kissed him would have been…what's the opposite of an exaggeration? It was that. This took Fred back to the kitchens at Hogwarts.

When Hermione broke off the kiss a moment later—and it was a good thing she did, because Fred was pretty sure this was what suffocation felt like—she looked up at him, he looked down at her, and she burst into laughter.

"You're blushing," she told him through her giggles, "_so_ bad."

"No, I'm not. I couldn't breathe. You turn red when you can't breathe."

"I can breathe just fine."

"That's because you knew what was coming and you were able to store up some oxygen beforehand."

"I didn't know," Hermione mumbled, ducking her chin in her fetching way. "I-I honestly did know whether I was going to kiss you or hex you."

Fred blinked. "My, you _are_ an angsty one." Hex him? Really? Fred had left his wand downstairs. He wondered if maybe it'd be best to keep it on hand for future Hermione attacks—either kind.

Sighing, Hermione hesitantly sat down next to Fred, keeping a good foot of space between them. That didn't change anything. After that kiss, it felt like they were using a summoning charm on each other; Fred could feel a sort of gravity between him and her, like a pull from somewhere back behind his stomach.

Slowly (he didn't want to startle her into a hex), Fred reached out his hand and left it palm-up on the bed between them. Without looking at him, Hermione smiled, reached over, and took it. Their hands fit together oddly: hers was small and smooth while his was long and bony and callused.

Still not looking at him, Hermione admitted, "I've missed you."

Fred felt like a complete sod for how happy that made him. He'd half to pull a house-elf later, punish himself for being such a girl. "I'd wondered. George said—" He hesitated, and Hermione's fingers tightened between his, sealing her palm to his. He told her about his and George's argument.

To his surprise, Hermione smiled as if she knew what George had been thinking when he hadn't. "That's because he's _jealous_, Fred. He doesn't want me changing things between you."

"Rubbish."

"Imagine if it was you, and I was…I was…" Hermione's voice faltered—obviously, she couldn't think of anyone as opposite of George as she was of Fred. Pansy Parkinson didn't count. George's good taste had to be taken into account as well. "…I was someone else, someone who could change George, rub off on him in a good way."

"Never. He could never be rubbed off on in a good way, he's too noble."

"For the sake of the example, Fred."

Fred strained, thinking about if his and George's roles were switched, how he might feel. He supposed that could be true…though the idea of him and George growing apart at all, even because of a girl, was so foreign and unfamiliar that Fred had a hard time imagining what it would be like. It was like trying to picture what it would be like to walk with only one foot, or clap with only one hand.

It was some time before Hermione said quietly, bashfully, "You…you didn't say whether you had missed me or not."

"I thought my coming to visit you on my broom during a lightning storm would have given you that idea." Hermione sniffed at his teasing tone, and rolling his eyes, he said, "Would you like for me to say it out loud?"

Clearing her throat, Hermione slowly raised her toffee-brown eyes to his and said in a wobbly voice, "I'd like for you to kiss me again."

Yes, Fred would have to get really creative with his house-elfesque punishments; his stomach tightened when she said that, like he was some flighty first year with a crush. He started leaning toward her, closing the space between them. "Put your wand away first, please."

As Hermione leaned toward him, she made a show out of holding up her wand and then dropping it over her shoulder, and Fred grinned, because that was as His-Hermione as it got.

He drew a breath before they kissed this time, and was glad that he did. A Firebolt couldn't have outflown him right then.

"_WHAT IN THE NAME OF SWEET MERLIN'S MINT JULIP CUPCAKES ARE YOU DOING_?" screeched a voice, and Fred fell forward, rolling off the bed as Hermione suddenly disappeared from in front him, having leaped to her feet.

"Ginny, Ginny, please, please be quiet!"

Fred scrambled up, feeling the Weasley blush flaming in his face. Ginny was standing in the door, her face an unattractive blend of fury, disgust, alarm, shock, and a whole slew of things Fred didn't have time to conduct a study on before he drove past Hermione, grabbed Ginny's frozen arm to yank her into the bedroom, and shut the door with his foot. He covered her gaping mouth with his hand before she could alert the wizards in Timbuktu to her presence.

"Stay calm, little Fireball."

"There's a perfectly good explanation for this," Hermione added, twisting her hands in front of her, her eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, please don't be angry with me."

"Of course she's not angry with _you_." Fred yelped as Ginny sunk her teeth into his hand. "Clearly I'm the culprit here."

Her mouth freed, Ginny spat, "You're bloody well right you are! Imagine, I come up here to get Hermione to see if she'd like help 'studying'," she shot a scathing look at Hermione, who wilted further, "and there you are, snogging, your big stupid fumbling beater's hands all over her!" All in all, the speech had a very Mrs. Weasley delivery. Very biting, with a lot of insults thrown in.

As Hermione went as red as a turnip, she stammered, "H-he didn't have his—"

"Alright then," Ginny ranted, her voice a venomous hiss, thankfully not loud enough to wake the dead anymore, "his big stupid bumbling mouth, then! You can't tell me that wasn't going places where it has no right being!"

Fred pressed his ear to the door to see if anyone was following the sounds of Ginny's initial shout, but it seemed that the painting of Mrs. Black had woken up with the first word of it and covered the rest up with her own unpleasant shouts. Mrs. Weasley and the rest were probably hard at work trying to shut the old crow up.

"Ginny," said Hermione tremulously, "Fred and I…that is we…we like each other. We have since last y-year."

As Hermione hiccupped and sheepishly scrubbed her sleeve over her eyes, Ginny seemed to soften. She sighed and sat down on the bed—far from where Hermione and Fred had been sitting, Fred noticed. "I'm not thick, you know. I've known about you two since last Christmas. The snowball fight, remember?"

Leave it to Ginny to smell out the truth. Fred made a face, suddenly remembering how he had so casually asked Ginny over the summer how Hermione was doing, never knowing Ginny had had his number all along.

Puzzled, Hermione sat down next to Ginny, leaving Fred to keep watch at the door, where he was happy to stay, far away from his little sister's smart left hook (which he and George had taught her, thank you very much).

"I don't understand. If you knew, why are you so upset?"

Ginny snorted and flicked a strand of red out of her eyes. "Do you think I like walking into my bedroom to find my older brother kissing my best friend?" She screwed up her nose. "If you call that kissing. Anyways, even if I knew, I didn't really think you were…that you were…_that_."

"We aren't…exactly," Hermione quickly amended as Fred caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. "Which is why we haven't said anything to anyone. I don't think…I don't think Ron would understand."

And they were back to Ron again. It seemed to Fred that even when he and Hermione could get away from him, they couldn't _really_ get away from him.

After a moment, Ginny looked up, sighed, and promised, "I won't say anything. Weasley's honor." She stood and turned flashing eyes on Fred, who instinctively tensed up like he had a rogue bludger heading straight for him. "Fred, please don't be an idiot about this. I know the way into the boys' dormitories."

Fred gave her a look. "Well, since you said please." A thought struck him, a thought that made him straighten up, square his shoulders, and examine Ginny very carefully, with a very big-brother expression. "And how exactly do you know the way into the boys' dormitories, Ginny?"

Ginny's smile was two parts disarming and one part worrisome; it kind of made Fred think that he should go get his beater's bat and hunt down some third year Gryffindor boys who needed put back in their place.

"Please, Fred. Just because you kiss like you've grappling with the whomping willow, that doesn't mean the rest of us haven't had practice."


	16. The Appeal of Broom Cupboards

**Another HP kick brought me back to this one. Somehow, even though this story is forever old (btw, I cringe at the first few chapters of this thing), it's still getting favorited. So I guess that means you guys want to know how it ends, seeing as how DH pt. 2 is looming on the near horizon. I'd like to finish the OoTP part of this fic, then cover both HBP and DH with a few thorough chapters. I have big plans for wrapping up DH. So yeah. I kind of want to get there and do the ending I've had in mind for like literally 3 years.**

**Thanks guys!**

* * *

"Butter, Hermione?"

"Thank you, Fred. Did you want some milk?"

"Please. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Hermione hesitated under Ginny's dark, freckled glare and hurriedly returned her attention to her steaming eggs. She trusted Ginny with their secret, but all the same…it had been horridly embarrassing, being walked in on like that, and no matter _what_ Ginny said, Hermione just couldn't look at Fred the same while his sister was watching. And she was watching an awful lot.

Ron seemed oblivious to the exchange and he shoveled through his eggs enthusiastically. It was hard to tell what George was thinking. He just kept shaking his head to himself, or at Fred, who sitting next to him and across from Hermione, hadn't stopped grinning since Mrs. Weasley has called them all down to breakfast. When he grinned at her like that, it took her a full minute to straighten out her head again. She nearly thought he was doing it on purpose.

"Now, I've a busy day planned," Mrs. Weasley announced as she turned away from the kitchen counter and set a fresh platter of biscuits on the long table. Fred and George summoned their biscuits; Fred made his circle Hermione's head like a satellite before bringing it to his plate. George shook his head again. "Harry, of course, will be arriving sometime this evening, but before then, I mean to have the bottom floor tapestries completely de-gnomed and dusted, and the cobwebs brought down off the chandeliers. You can decide amongst yourselves who wants what, so long as it's done by noon. Hermione, is something wrong?"

"What?" Hermione stammered, looking up. "No, why would…nothing's…everything's…"

"You look peaky," Mrs. Weasley said thoughtfully, pressing the back of her hand to Hermione's blushing forehead. "I think you might have a fever."

"She _was_ up awfully late last night," Ginny commented innocently, her eyes flickering over Fred. "Maybe she just didn't get enough sleep."

George snorted into his glass of orange juice, and Hermione heard a thud and thought Ginny must have bit back her wince from Fred kicking her in the shin. And Hermione was supposed to last a whole school year of this? Fred sneaking winks at her, Ginny dropping innuendos, George shaking his head at Hermione as if she was a lost cause? And then Ron! It was so much worse that the whole thing was sailing right over his red head! He and Harry were her best friends; no matter how thickheaded he could be, she cared about him. If he found out about her and Fred's—situation—by some other means…he'd never speak to her again. And she thought that just might kill her, to put it as dramatically as Lavender Brown might.

"Hmm, perhaps that's true," Mrs. Weasley mused, her eyes hard on Hermione's face. She couldn't possibly know. She just couldn't. The fact that Fred was still alive and had all his appendages attested to that. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard, Hermione. It's not good for you."

"See, Mum, that's what we're always saying," George started, but Molly cut him off with a glare that had everyone else suddenly studying their plates intently.

After breakfast, while Ron got corralled into helping his mum with the mess, Hermione and Ginny started for the first floor tapestries, awkwardly silent.

"Ginny," Hermione timidly began, "last night…I didn't mean…didn't mean to keep things from you. It's just—"

"Hermione," Ginny cut in, eying her sideways around a stray strand of long red hair, "I understand. I do. But have you stopped to really think about _why_ you might be so determined to keep your unfortunate inclination for my idiot of a brother a secret?"

"I—what do you mean?" Hermione could hear Fred and George's almost identical laugh (she could tell Fred's apart easily, now, and it made her arms break out in goosebumps that she sheepishly rubbed down) coming up behind them, and walked faster, staying on Ginny's elbow. "It's complicated, that's all. I'm just trying to be rational."

Slowly, Ginny shook her head. They turned into one of Grimmauld Place's dining rooms and stared together glumly at the numerous tapestries that looked grey for all the dust coating them.

"I don't think that's it, Hermione. And I think when you say _everyone_…that you're worried about _everyone_ knowing…you really just mean Ron."

Hermione flinched. Because Ginny was right. She thought of seeing Ron's face, anguished and angry as he connected the dots between Fred's winks and Hermione's blushes, and felt a lump burning in her throat. "He'd be so angry," she whispered.

"And why does that bother you? He wouldn't be angry at you forever."

It dawned on Hermione that Ginny was suggesting…was saying…

"Ginny, Ron is my best friend," she said sternly. "Same as Harry. They're both of them the same to me."

Again, Ginny just nodded sagely and started for the tapestries, leaving Hermione with a hollow feeling, like Ginny's ominous words were echoing around and around in the empty space inside of her. _He wouldn't be angry at you forever…_

Fred and George exploded out of the corridor behind her, playfully pushing each other and wrestling until Fred glimpsed Hermione's face and quickly straightened up, staring at her. He gave George a look, George nodded and went to join Ginny, and then Fred grabbed the still-frozen Hermione by the elbow and pulled her to the corner.

"Mum's right, you don't look so good," he said in a rare, serious voice as he took her face between his long hands and examined her with an intensity that made Hermione shuffle her feet. "Maybe you really are sick."

Aware of Ginny and George experimentally kicking the tapestry across the room, Hermione cleared her throat and tried to pull her head free. She wouldn't have been able to if he hadn't rolled his eyes and let her go.

"I feel fine." Physically, anyways. "We should help George and Ginny."

"Should we?" He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "I know a few closets that could use a could scrubbing. Perhaps we should go inspect those."

Despite herself, Hermione giggled. "I don't think Ginny or George would thank us for that."

"Well," Fred said, casually backing up towards the dining room door, pulling Hermione by her limp hand, "they won't have to _not _thank us if they don't know any better." He suddenly dove backwards, yanking Hermione with him out of the dining room and into the dark corridor. Laughing, running, they tripped to an old broom cupboard, which Fred cleaned with a swift sweep of his wand that made Hermione raise her eyebrows, impressed. But he dragged her in after him before she could comment on the spellwork and with another flick of his wand, pulled the door closed on their secrets.

* * *

Fred was whistling to himself as he levitated a bag of laundry across the room, stuffing it in the corner and out of the way. He wasn't cleaning, no matter what George said. He wasn't. He just thought, should Hermione ever deem him worthy of a visit, that it might be nice for her not to have to tread on a month's worth of dirty clothes and lord knows what else.

He glanced over his shoulder as George vomited into a pail, straightened calmly, and made a mark on a piece of parchment. They had been taking turns trying out their products, and as bad as the puking pastilles might seem now, they couldn't possibly be worse than the prototype fainting fancies that had put Fred under for a full twenty-four hours until George had managed to bring him back around.

"I think—" George paused to vomit again, then raised his head and nodded to himself. "Yeah, that was the last of it. So that's three good pukes in the first ten minutes. Throw me that chocolate frog, will you? I'm starving."

As Fred scooped up the frog on his bed and tossed it to his twin, he cocked his head, thinking he heard a rumble of voices under his feet.

"Sounds like Harry's in," George commented lightly, echoing Fred's thought.

"What's he yelling about, I wonder?"

"Maybe the better question would be, what _isn't _he yelling about?" Suddenly, George grinned at Fred. "Sounds like he's giving Hermione a regular old tongue lashing. Not going to rush to the rescue? Save the damsel? Defend her honor?"

Fred grimaced, dug around in his pocket, and produced a fake wand that exploded into a rubber chicken when it his George's backside. His brother gave a yelp and glared.

"It's just Harry. I'm sure he's not…" The loud voice went on at unholy decibels. "Then again, he is a troubled youth, isn't he?"

"If by troubled you mean the tragic hero liable to snap at any moment, then yes, he is that."

"Well, Ron's down there too, you know. If our T.H. _does_ explode, I don't much fancy the thought of picking up Ronald's pieces while Mum chews our ears for not stopping Harry while we had the chance."

Giving Fred a dry look, George stood, dusted off the seat of his pants, and said, "You're likely right, Fred. I suppose we ought to show the T.H. our extendable ears, distract him from said impending explosion."

Fred gestured grandly, bowing deeply. "After you."

"And have Hermione mistake me for you and goose me before I have the chance to defend myself?"

"My dear George, trust me, you should be so lucky."

With a loud _CRACK_, the twins disapparated and reappeared on Ron's bed, sinking into the mattress on either side of one grouchy Harry Potter. Hermione and Ron barely jumped—but maybe that's because they had been in the middle of a fight. Hermione's face suggested as much. She kept swallowing, and her eyes were rather glossy. For just a second, she met Fred's eyes, then looked away quickly, like she did when she didn't want him reading her thoughts. Not that he could. In fact, he was actually quite glad that he couldn't…though he _would_ like to know her thoughts about that broom closet adventure, come to think on it...

"Thought we heard your dulcet tones," George said in greeting to Harry.

Trying to snap his head out of his Hermione-closet-snogging daydream, Fred grinned (partly at the daydream, admittedly) and added, "Don't bottle up your anger, Harry…let it out!" Harry scowled, looking away.

"Anyway, if you're all done shouting—"

"—want to hear something really interesting?"

A few minutes later, Fred, George, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were clustered around the topmost banister in the stairwell of Grimmauld Place, lowering a gummy, extendable ear down to the floor level, where a meeting for the Order was taking place in the kitchen. Fred and George had already heard more than enough to wet their curiosities…plans for using Snape in You-Know-Who's inner circles…ways to recruit…how to keep protecting Harry…it was all well and good, but as of yet, the Order hadn't mentioned bringing Fred and George in on the action. Clearly, they hadn't heard how effective those puking pastilles could be.

"I can't see!" Ron grunted, and George shushed him with an elbow.

"You don't need to see, Ron," Hermione told him curtly, wiggling when Fred snuck a hand through the tangle of bodies and hooked one of his fingers around hers. "It's just an ear, and it looks disgusting."

"Easy, now," Fred said, making his voice affronted, "that's modeled after my own."

"Not your best feature," she whispered, glancing at him over Harry's bent back. It was just _not right_, how cute she'd gotten this last year. He didn't think it was just his biased opinion or imagination, either. He knew for certain he wasn't the only one who had noticed. Ron, Krum, that one slimy bloke from Slytherin that he'd locked in the girls' privies after he had caught him leering at her…

"And what is?" Fred asked.

"Your twin," George said. "Now shut up, all of you. I've almost got it down."

They all leaned forward together as voices, creepy Snape's and angry Sirius's, drifted in whispers up the length of the dangling extendable ear. Movement flickered at the corner of Fred's vision, and he hissed as the useless, puffy lump, Crookshanks, stalked toward the ear.

"No, Crookshanks!" Hermione whispered.

"Ruddy cat," George grumbled, trying to retract the ear which was snagged in the cat's greedy claws. "He's going to—"

The group let out a low chorus of groans as the cat succeeded in snapping the fleshy string and carrying off the ear like a prize mouse.

Ron snorted and shook his head as he leaned back, defeated. "I hate that bloody thing. He always ruins everything."

That was another thing about Ron—he could put Hermione's back up faster than almost anyone else. "You're still angry at him because he showed your rat to be a Death Eater in disguise."

Eying her, wary of her tone, Ron held up his hands defensively, backing down. Hermione winced, guilty. She shouldn't have snapped, but Ginny's words had her on edge…like she needed to re-convince herself that her and Ron were the same as ever, best friends at odds. And she was tense for other, perfectly legitimate reasons. Harry's hearing being the foremost on her mind. She couldn't imagine not having him at Hogwarts, and not just because he was a buffer between her and Ron.

Suddenly, she realized that she was staring around at the circle of her friends (Ginny had just joined them with a sharp word for Fred and George when she realized she had missed out on the extendable ears), who were all talking and laughing and teasing. Her friends. They were all growing up, weren't they? This was Fred and George's last year…and then…

She found his grey-blue eyes on her, twinkling. For a second, she found herself thinking wistfully about that downstairs broom closet. She'd never done anything like _that_ before. Hiding, skipping out on her cleaning duties, and snogging all at once.

"What? What is it?" She jumped a little as Ron poked her with a grin. "Hermione, you're smiling like a looby. What's so funny?"

"Oh," Hermione cleared her throat hurriedly, wishing Fred would stop glancing at her like he knew what she was thinking, "oh. Just…just what Harry said. About Snape. That was funny."

Everyone stared at her blankly for a moment, and Fred turned away as if suddenly interested in something down the stairwell—she suspected he was hiding a laugh. At her. What a surprise.

"Er…" Harry eyed Hermione uncertainly and exchanged a worried look with Ron, who shrugged. "I said Snape was having a go at my dad again?"

Fred's shoulders were shaking; he started coughing to disguise his laugh. Hermione glared at his back. If he thought she'd be sneaking away to any more broom closets with him anytime soon, well, she'd show him. She wouldn't be doing that till tomorrow, at least.

* * *

It was dark and rainy the day they returned to Hogwarts. The day's one redeeming factor was that Harry was coming back with them, as his name had been cleared. Well, and that it was Hermione's first official day as a prefect, and even though she tried her best to hide it, she was thrilled. Ron was a prefect too. That rather surprised her, much as she tried to pretend it didn't. Ron wasn't a bad student, but he didn't exactly have a golden record—not that she did either, she reminded herself with a grimace as she walked the train corridor, peering into stalls filled with restless students. Good marks, yes, but a record for rule breaking, thanks to Ron and Harry. And Fred.

She had a stern word for a third year Slytherin who was bullying a younger Hufflepuff, and confiscated a few restricted items, putting them away. Her and Ron worked some halls together, actually enjoying themselves until Hermione insisted they divide and conquer more ground. He left with a glimmer in his eye that said he was off to terrorize Slytherins.

The closer they got to the platform in Hogsmeade, the darker and gloomier the windows on the train became, until Hermione was walking in blue shadow, and the stalls she peeked her heads into were hushed, subdued by the weather.

Fred's laughing voice called out to her from down the hall, and she dithered between going to him—just to say hello, of course—and finishing her route. He was practically on the way, she decided. She started for his stall and stopped short at what she saw.

It was the old crew of Gryffindor seventh years: Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, and they were all laughing uproariously as Fred and George demonstrated their joke shop products. Products, Hermione thought darkly, that were most definitely _not_ allowed at Hogwarts, and forbidden to exist by Mrs. Weasley, on top of that. She was a little intimidated by the thought of going in there and giving the twins a talking-to with their friends present…especially by the pretty Angelina, who no matter what Fred said about just being his friend, had always had an eye for him. But Fred…he knew this was important to her. He would listen. Maybe even come and walk with her till they found the snack trolley.

Hesitating just a second, Hermione slid open the stall door and cleared her throat to announce herself. George noticed her first; his smile became decidedly fixed as he elbowed Fred to get his attention. When Fred looked up, he was wearing a strange expression. Hermione couldn't put a finger to it. He couldn't be _annoyed_, like he looked—not with her.

"You know you can't have those here, Fred, George," she said, trying to keep her tone light for Fred's sake. The others shifted on their seat, and she wondered with heat crawling up her neck if they knew about her and Fred. They probably didn't approve. She faltered.

"Cut us a break, Hermione," Fred said, looking away. "We've got to try to extend our market, and these are fresh soils."

"Absolutely fertile," George agreed as Lee snickered.

Clenching her jaw, Hermione insisted, "Be that as it may, I can't let you—"

"Hermione," Fred said a second time. "Come on. We're just—"

"No, Fred!" Hermione snapped, exasperated. "Now please, put those away before I have to give you detention!"

Fred's eyes went open wide as he stared at her; a puking pastilles fell from his hand without him realizing it. Did he really think she was going to cut him slack just because she fancied him? She couldn't make exceptions, not on her first day, not when she'd already had to give poor Neville a warning about having a poisonous plant sitting out with his luggage. Suddenly, she felt indignant, and she pulled back her shoulders and stood straighter. How dare he try to take advantage of her! How dare he assume—

"When I come back," Hermione began in a grave voice that made Fred drop another candy to the floor, "if those aren't put away, I'll be sending a note to your mum. And," she cast a glower over Lee and the girls, who huddled back away from the heat of her slightly crazed stare, "anyone found with Weasley products will be reported." To who, she didn't know, but she meant what she said. She wouldn't compromise, not even for Fred. With a last look at Fred's shocked expression, she spun on her heel and continued down the hallway.

As she marched, she deflated. Being a prefect was important to her, but Fred's jokeshop was important to _him_.

"No," she mumbled to herself, and a few first years looked at her like she'd gone mad, "no compromise."

"Hermione, wait." She turned, her stomach performing funny little backflips, as Fred skidded to a stop in the corridor next to her, slightly breathless. They faced each other silently for a minute; Fred's jaw was taut.

"Is this the way it's going to be all year?" Fred said suddenly. The fight seemed to go out of him as he slumped against the wall, his hands in his trouser pockets.

"I…I hope not," Hermione admitted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "But I'm a _prefect_ now, Fred. I can't ignore things like I might've before—"

"You've never ignored things," Fred said dryly, closing his eyes. A wrinkle was deepening between his eyebrows like it did when he was deep in thought; she resisted the urge to reach over and smooth it out with her hand.

"Why can't you…why can't you just not…break rules?"

Fred's eyes snapped open, sharp on her face, as if checking to see whether she had been kidding.

"Or at least," she added quickly, not liking having that hard look directed at her, "at least don't do it where I can see you."

After a minute's thought, Fred nodded. "I suppose I can do that. So long as you can try not to look too hard."

"Deal. So long as—"

Fred put his whole hand over her mouth—it was so big, it covered most of her nose as well—and then used his free hand to bring her across the hall and up against his chest, still covering her mouth. Hermione's eyes darted frantically up and down the corridor, imagining what would happen should Lavender or one of the Patil girls turn the corner.

"Would you stop acting like you're scared to be seen with me?" Fred chuckled. "I can promise you, it would do wonders for your reputation."

Hermione mumbled against his hand, and he raised his eyebrows at her tone. "Be civil," he warned, and peeled his hand back to let her speak.

"I said, it probably wouldn't be so bad on your reputation, either," Hermione told him in clipped tones, pushing off of his chest only a little regretfully. "You could use a little positive influence."

"I can think of something else I could use," he teased, smiling at her in that disarming, butterfly-giving way. "But I suppose a prefect such as yourself would be above finding a dark abandoned corner and sneaking into it with shifty fellows such as me."

Going red—would the blushing _ever_ stop?—Hermione dusted off her jumper and sniffed. "I should say so. Besides, I need to change into my robes." As Fred opened his mouth, grinning, she added, "And no, I do not need help." She couldn't help but laugh when his face fell a little. "If it makes any difference…I-I would if I could. Oh, about the corner, not—not the robes."

Brightening, Fred snapped out a hand, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her so that she tripped into him again. Then he swung her about so her back was to the wall and before she could do more than peep her surprise, leaned her forehead and nose down against hers.

"I'll have to dock you points for the delivery, but the stammer on that really worked to your favor. It gets my sympathy vote."

Swallowing—she sometimes forgot to do the simplest, routine things when Fred caught her off guard like this—Hermione breathed, "Fred, I really have to go now. Please?"

Rolling his eyes, Fred unpinned her from the wall. "When can I see you again?"

"I expect you'll see me at dinner."

"That's not what I meant. Hogwarts has a plethora of broom cupboards. And you have access to the prefect's bathroom now. You can come and watch me swim laps."

Hermione would have been lying if she'd said that she didn't contemplate that for a full second.

"Tomorrow? After classes? I shouldn't have too much homework yet, but if I do—"

"If you do," Fred finished for her, slouching against the opposite wall, "you can do it in the prefect's bathroom. It's called multitasking."

Sighing a sigh that was exasperated but happy at the same time, Hermione nodded. Then she took a step forward, leaned into Fred, and kissed him, just to make up for earlier, even if she had been right in what she'd done. She didn't think she'd ever get used to kissing Fred, not on this level. Kissing anyone like this was out of her character; add in that this was the infamous Fred Weasley she was kissing, and you had a spell for disaster. That didn't stop her from sighing again, just happily this time, when he wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her so close that she could feel every outline of his beater's chest under her hands. She wondered what the other Gryffindor girls would think…they all thought Hermione was doomed to be a spinster. But here she was, snogging Fred.

"Hermione," Fred said against her mouth. "I never thought I'd say this, but maybe this isn't the time—"

Hermione belatedly realized that he had unwound his arms and was trying to prize her hands from the front of his crumpled shirt. His face was the famous Weasley red, as red as his hair, which looked more mussed than it had a moment ago, and he was breathing hard. Good grief, had _she_ done that? She wasn't sure whether she was horrified, humiliated, or proud.

"Right," Hermione nodded solemnly, straightening with dignity. "Well then, I guess I will see you tomorrow."

Fred just nodded, still looking a little dazed as he flattened down his hair with a hand.

As soon as Hermione turned around, her face split into a grin, and she threw a little skip into her walk. She couldn't be certain, but she thought she might've just outkissed Fred Weasley.


	17. The O Student And Fred

**Wow, I know, another chapter so soon? I've got the HP bug. Probably because me and my sister are going as Fred and George to the HP opening night. We'll having our Skiving Snackboxes. **

**NOTE: There originally was some heavier kissing in this scene, and I cut it out, not 24 hours later, for the same reason I chopped the heavy kissing at the start of the fic. I think it's just wandering too far from how JKR would've written the characters, and I want to stay true to the characters. That's all.**

* * *

Day one back at Hogwarts went like this.

After Fred kissed Hermione—no, scratch that—after _Hermione_ kissed _Fred_ on the train and left him standing there gaping like a fish out of water, he went back to his friends to endure long, uncertain stares from everyone but George and Angelina, who tried to fill the awkward silence by helping themselves to some canary creams. Which was good of George, considering he and Fred had already eaten enough test canaries to open up an aviary between their stomachs.

The train pulled in at Hogsmeade, and the group climbed into their horseless carriage and rode it up to the castle, then joined all the rest in streaming into the Great Hall for dinner and the sorting hat's less-than-cheery song. Seemed the hat knew a little something about You-Know-Who being back, going by its hints. Fred only listened with one ear. He and George were plotting out how to get their products into the other house's common rooms on a piece of parchment held in their laps under the table. If being a little more discreet with the joke shop business was the only way to keep Hermione from going prefect on him, well, he could do discreet. Sometimes. Occasionally. Every once and a while.

"Oi, you two," Angelina whispered, and Fred and George looked up as one. "I forgot to mention…I'm captain."

"Brilliant," George congratulated, bowing slightly over his plate of steaming food.

"Great job," added Fred, grinning. Angelina couldn't be near the slave driver Oliver had been. Maybe, with her setting their practice schedule, there might be a little time left edgewise for Hermione. With her studying rabidly for her OWLs, and him working with George on the joke shop plans, those prefect bathroom rendezvous were likely to be few and far between.

"Right, thanks," Angelina said briskly. "I want to do a pre-tryout practice as a team. Reevaluate each player and fine tune some of the strategies Wood lined up last year. Then maybe—" She mercifully paused when Dumbledore got up to deliver his annual speech, his great silver beard and hair glimmering in the floating candlelight.

Fred tried to listen. Well, alright, maybe not very hard, but he did, a little. Most of his attention was on Hermione, whose eyes were on the pink-clad, toad-faced woman seated at the professor's table at the front of the hall. Hermione looked thoughtful, even grim. And pretty. Bloody hell, but he had it bad.

In an interesting turn, the toad woman interrupted Dumbledore mid-speech, causing everyone to stare. Then she got up and started talking French, or near enough to Fred's ears. Something about progress for progress's sake…it sounded fishy, to him, and something about the old cow just screamed stickler. And she'd be teaching the dark arts class. Foreboding.

The horridly long, uninformative speech was just the beginning.

Fred and George slipped out of the dining hall a little ahead of Hermione and Ron, who were flocking the first years along, and made for the Gryffindor common room with identical grins.

"We need to get up the flier before the ickle firsties settle in."

"Maybe leave a few nosebleed nougats out for interest's sake. Or some samples on their pillowcases."

"Your thoughtfulness and resourcefulness is almost as impressive as my own, my dear Fred."

"Funny, I was going to say the same about—" Fred suddenly jerked to a stop, his trainers squeaking on the marble floor tiles. "Do you smell that?"

George took an experimental sniff, an eyebrow raised. "It's perfume. Please don't tell me you're recognizing Granger's _perfume_ now—"

"No, and that's not her perfume." Fred dismissed George's smirk with a wave, holding their flier in his free hand. "It's disgusting. It smells like the lovechild of Severus Snape's hair and—"

"Ron's lucky socks, yeah, I agree." Suddenly grinning, George nodded for Fred to follow him as he ducked into a side corridor, on the trail of the strange smell. "Whatever it is, we need to put it in the pong bomb—"

"Hem hem," a shrill little voice announced itself from behind, and Fred and George spun, caught off guard. It was the piggish little woman, what was her name? Umbridge. She was batting her eyelashes and smiling at them like a cat with its eyes on a few plump mice. Fred quickly equipped his most winning smile, but even then, felt uneasy. Which was silly. He could charm the magical eye off of Mad-Eye, if he wanted to.

That flowery stink of perfume was radiating from her, adding to his misgivings.

"Gentlemen," Umbridge said sweetly, "shouldn't you be going with the rest of the students to your common room?"

"Is this—" George looked around, faking a confused frown. "Is this not the way?"

"George, you've done it again," Fred pretended to scold. He looked to Umbridge and rolled his eyes as if to say, _He's helpless, I know_. "Sorry, Professor. He has the equilibrium of a glitchy snitch. We'll just be off, then."

The woman's lips curled into a deeper smile, and she giggled—an alarming sound. "No harm done, children." _Children?_ "But best you hurry on to bed."

George was still caught up in his helpless act; he grabbed Fred's arm and swallowed loudly. "You lead the way, Fred. I…I can't trust myself." Fred patted his hand consolingly and edged them around the pink professor, not entirely sure she didn't mean to swaddle them and tuck them in herself.

"Oh, and one more thing," Umbridge suddenly chirped, and before Fred could so much as blink, snapped the flier out of his hand and pulled it to herself. She looked satisfied, like a frog that had just caught a fat fly. "There. I think I'll just take this. Hurry on, now."

When she turned away, Fred and George walked quickly in the opposite direction, exchanging a flummoxed look. Something about the woman just put spiders down Fred's back. She could smile and giggle and pinch his cheeks like a fond aunt, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that she was actually a dragon in human skin, or near enough. She was…

George put it well. After looking about to make sure they really were alone, he deflated with a sigh and shook his head. "I'm fairly certain I just met my first _real_ witch."

All Fred could do was nod. That feeling of uneasiness hadn't faded.

* * *

Fred paced agitatedly in the abandoned corridor, still in his scarlet quidditch robes, his red hair pasted to his head with sweat. Angelina's pre-tryout practice had been like getting in a wrestling match with a dementor; Fred felt drained. By all rights, he should be crawling, whimpering, into his bed and sleeping away all the aches from practice. Or taking a leaf out of George's book, and shoveling food into his mouth as if to store up fat for the winter. But he hadn't spoken to Hermione in three days. He'd foreseen they'd both be busy, but this was ridiculous. Whenever he even saw Hermione, she was jogging down a corridor with an armload of books, feverish, or whispering with Ron and Harry in corners, looking dodgily over her shoulders.

He'd finally just sent her an owl asking her to meet him, but he was starting to think she wasn't going to show. Hermione Jean Granger wouldn't be half an hour late.

Sighing, resisting the urge to hex something, Fred turned to go and bumped into a flustered-looking Hermione. Her bushy hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was panting.

"What is it, Fred?" she said in greeting as he opened his mouth. He blinked at her, and she flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Here." After glancing both ways down the corridor, she rose to her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Now, what is it? I can't believe the amount of homework I have for runes, and I promised Harry I'd help him—" She stopped short as Fred threw up his hands, surrendering, and turned to go. It was lucky he'd left his bat down at the field, or else he might just take it to the statue of Boris the Baffled seeming to smile at him as he passed.

"Fred? Fred!" Hermione caught up and walked backwards in front of him, still hugging her books. "What? What did I—"

"Did you notice where we are, Hermione?" Fred asked calmly, pausing and gesturing around them. Hermione looked around, her forehead furrowed, and then made a noise of understanding. The entrance to the prefect's bathroom was just a few doors down.

Making a pained face, Hermione looked up at him and attempted a smile. "Fred, it's not that I don't want to, I just _really_ can't."

"The year's not going to get any less busy, you know."

"I know, I know, but already I've got—where are you going?"

"Well," Fred smirked over his shoulder at her, shrugging innocently, "you don't have to come along if you're too busy, but, in case you haven't noticed my rugged albeit slightly fetid attire, I really need to dunk myself in that luxurious, comfortable, roomy bathtub. See you later, Hermione." With one last grin at her stricken expression, he mumbled the password to the Boris statue and slid in through the secretive door and into the large marble bathroom.

The stained glass windows made pools of color on the surface of the steaming water, and the air was heavy, hot, filled with drifting, shiny bubbles. In another second, Fred heard the door opening behind him, and turned to look expectantly at the sheepish-looking Hermione.

"I just didn't want to leave on a bad note," she said stiffly when he started chuckling.

"Right. I knew I'd rope you in with that bit about my ruggedness."

Shaking her head at him, Hermione walked over to the rounded bench against the wall and sat down, opening a book on her lap. Fred studied her a minute and then started undoing the laces of his quidditch robe.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked in a shrill voice that wasn't quite completely calm.

"Well, I don't know how you do it, but I for one bathe naked." He enthusiastically yanked the robe up over his head, so that he was down to only his striped jumper and his trousers. One layer down.

Hermione seemed to have the same thought. "Alright, alright!" she yelped, standing so quickly her book slipped from her lap and landed page-down on the floor. She scooped it up and started smoothing out its pages, pointedly avoiding looking at Fred, making him laugh again. "You have my attention, Fred Weasley. Kindly stop stripping!"

"Have it your way, then." With a sore grunt, Fred lowered himself to the ground, pulled off his boots and socks, and lowered his feet gingerly over the edge of the bathtub. After a pause, Hermione joined him, taking off her black dress shoes and lining them up carefully next to his dirty, scuffed boots. For a second, they both looked at the shoes, one pair dainty and clean, the other faded hand-me-downs that had once been Charlie's. Hermione and Fred.

"How's things?" Fred asked as they turned to face the pool-like bathtub and its stained glass windows.

"Alright," Hermione answered quietly, swilling the bubbles with her feet. "I'm worried about Harry. We had our first class with Umbridge yesterday and…it didn't go well."

"Yeah, we had our first class with her today," Fred said dryly. "She's definitely on the ministry's payroll, isn't she?"

"She's horrid," was all Hermione said. She leaned her head sideways on his shoulder, and he took her hand and started playing with her small fingers. As always, the closeness of her tangled up his insides, made him feel too light.

"Ginny had a nightmare last night, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"What about?" Fred quirked his head and examined her face, which she was trying to hide behind her brown curls.

"Just…things.

"Informative. Tell her I'll sell her some dreamless sleep drought." When Hermione scowled at him, he added, "At a discounted price, of course."

They sat in silence for some time, till the light beyond the windows was dark blue. Finally, Hermione sighed and leaned up. Fred knew it was silly (and by that, he meant pathetic. Ridiculous. Bloody girly.), but as soon as the warmth of her was gone, he wanted to pull her back in. It went without saying that he'd never felt that way about anyone before, not even when he was snogging them. All Hermione had to do was just sit next to him.

"I really do have to go now," Hermione said, pulling on her braid. "I was going to be meet Ron and Harry. They'll be worried."

With effort, Fred made his smile stay put, and nodded. The world really was coming to an end if he was jealous of _Ron_.

"Alright, then," he said lightly, standing with her and stretching. "But first, I seem to remember you saying something about wanting to go for a swim."

"What? I never said that."

"Said what?"

"That I want to go for a swim."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last part."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione leaned toward him and pronounced as if he were deaf, "I want to go for a—" Her words changed into a garbled scream as he roped his arms around her waist and fell backwards into the bathtub, pulling her in with him. He quickly kicked off against the bottom of the pool and pulled her up to the surface. Accidentally drowning her would hardly be romantic, even by his standards.

When they emerged from the water, she coughingly spat, "Fred Weasley, you foul little—"

"Sorry, tripped," he interrupted. "Wet floor and all. Lucky I caught you."

"_Caught_ me?" Hermione incredulously repeated, treading water. She paddled her way toward him and reached out a hand, and he grabbed it and pulled her to him, helping hold her aloft, simultaneously getting to hold her close. The moment was only slightly ruined by the fact that his quidditch uniform was about ten pounds heavier than it ought to be, and soaked.

"You are the limit," Hermione laughed, shaking her head again and peeling her wet jumper away from her skin. "I suppose that was your plan all along?"

"No," Fred said seriously, bobbing in the water. "Originally, I really was going to get naked."

"Oh, lovely." Hermione cringed, and laughing, hooked her legs around his waist, letting herself be carried.

After a few minutes of wandering (and for Fred's part, reveling in his victory), she put her arms around his neck and looked up at him thoughtfully. Fred waited, wondering if he should brace himself. When she looked at him like that, usually, she followed it up by either kissing him till he couldn't tell up from down or delivering an unintentional morale crusher.

"How many girls have you kissed, Fred?" she asked quickly, as if to get it out in a rush.

"Eleven," he answered instantly.

"_Eleven_?"

He nodded, fighting back a laugh at her wide-eyed expression. Sometimes he forgot that he'd been her first kiss. "And a half."

"Eleven and a half," she repeated under her breath. Her eyes slid past his face and focused on something far away. She bit her bottom lip, thinking hard. "Have you…are you…were any of them…"

Fred probably should probably have rushed in to save her the pain of asking aloud, but he was having too much fun, watching her struggle for words.

Eleven. Hermione had thought four or five, at most…but eleven girls before her…she suddenly felt self-conscious, clumsy. Some if not all of those girls were probably older, more sophisticated. But, she thought to herself, she was probably smarter. A few of the giggly girls she recalled having seen hanging on Fred and George's arms had all together been about as clever as a cupcake.

And none of _them_ had managed to catch Fred off guard! She was the only one who had that to her name…that every time she kissed him, it was like she was surprising him, because he didn't expect her to want to kiss him at all. She was still working through what that meant.

"Hermione?" Fred said suddenly, and she looked at him. He smiled a small smile and stopped in the middle of the pool, letting the currents of the running bathtub spigots swirl the water around them. "You're the first one where it really meant anything."

Hermione half-wished she could sink underwater and hide her silly grin. As it was, she ducked her chin and focused on a little tear in Fred's quidditch jumper, refusing to look up. That invisible pull she sometimes felt between them had come on again, seemed to tug on an invisible magnet in her chest, till she found her arms around him and her head on his shoulder. She could hear his heart beating, fast and steady…faster than hers, she thought, and bit her smiling bottom lip. She tightened her legs around him, not allowing for any space between them. If he had let her go, she probably just would've stuck there, she was holding on so tight.

"How long can you hold your breath?" she asked, raising her head.

"You mean how long can I kiss underwater?"

"No," Hermione laughed, slapping his chest as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I mean how long can you hold your breath? I used to swim, in muggle school. I had the record."

"Of course you did. But that was before your skills were faced with the indomitable Fred Weasley and his lungs of iron."

"Let's hope those lungs don't make you sink." Hermione unwound her legs and arms from Fred, releasing him, and stroked backwards. When he stepped after her, grinning, she held up a hand to forestall him. "On my count. Ready? One…two…"

Fred took a gasp of air and dove under the bubbles, pushing himself to the bottom of the pool and opening his eyes against the blurry water. Hermione sank down next to him, pushing her skirt down as it tried to drift up around her legs. She squinted at him, cheeks full of air, and he made a face at her. Trying to outdo him again. Ha. Fred would eat his quidditch boots if he didn't—

It was hard to tell, but he thought Hermione was smiling as she reached over, took hold of the bottom of his quidditch jumper, and started pulling it up over his head and shoulders, so that she disappeared behind the fabric as it blinded him. When his head popped out of the hole, her lips came hard against his. It was always so startling, being kissed by Ms. Granger—who he would never have thought of kissing anybody before, let alone him. Without meaning to, he blew out some of his air supply and sucked in water, gagging. He thought Hermione's face was overly satisfied has he kicked back to the surface and emerged coughing.

"Go on and smile," he said as she came up beside him, grinning. His throat felt raw. "I'm just drowning here, never mind me."

"I just wanted to test a theory I had," Hermione said happily. "About me kissing you. I wish I could see what you look like when you're kissing someone else." Fred raised his eyebrows. "Just because when you kiss me, you always look surprised. And then you look…something else. I don't know. Almost like you're in…" She felt her face going as scarlet as Fred's abandoned quidditch robes as she finished lamely, "…it's almost like I'm hurting you."

Fred stared at her expressionlessly for so long, she started to fidget with her sodden jumper, which was weighing her down in the water. Finally, he opened his mouth and said levelly, "Just because I know it'll never last long enough."

Slowly, Hermione nodded. "I think I know what you mean. It never feels like we have enough time left, anymore. For the things that matter." Frowning to herself, she suddenly turned to the edge of the pool, hoisted herself out, and abruptly started drying herself with a quick warming spell. Confused, Fred swam over, joined her on dry ground, and started mimicking the spell with his wand, which he picked up from the puddled floor. He must've said something again. He raced back over the last few minutes of conversation and came up blank. So far as he could tell, he been being perfectly charming and well-behaved (aside from the whole pulling her fully clothed into a bathtub thing).

As if answering the question he hadn't even posed yet, Hermione sighed and explained, "It's just that I'm not the sort of person to make rash, spontaneous decisions….or I wasn't, before I met you. I don't typically make bad choices. I'm—"

"You're the good girl, the prefect, the O student, on her way to being Head Girl," Fred filled in. He paused, a strange feeling lurking in the bottom of his stomach, which not all that long ago, had been soaring. "It's just a bloody swim, Hermione. Everybody swims. Well, except for Eloise Midgen, who I have it on good authority only floats."

"It's not just the swim," Hermione interrupted, with a roll of her eyes for his Midgen joke. "And I'm not totally naïve, you know. I mean, just because you're the first boy I've ever...ever..."

"Swam fully clothed in an olympic-sized bathtub with?"

"I was going to say been in some semblance of a relationship with. That doesn't mean I'm completely helpless or innocent." When he stared at her doubtfully, on the verge of smiling, she added heatedly, "I once stole an aero bar from the market."

"Why'd they let you out of prison so soon, I wonder?"

Growling at him, Hermione levitated a small puddle of water his way, tossing it at his dried back. He deflected it with a lazy flick of his wand, eying her.

"Why are you angry?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, staring at the wall. "I guess I'm just…confused. About myself. About how I feel like two different people when I'm with you. There's the bookish me, and then there's the _you_ me. You make me feel like a different part of me is just waking up. And I can't even tell anyone about it. It's _frustrating_."

It didn't help anything that Fred looked so understanding, as if he knew exactly what she meant when that was impossible. She didn't do things like this. She was reasonable and down to earth; she thought things through. Except for when she was with Fred.

"It doesn't have to be a secret."

"I'm not ready to tell them."

Fred paused. "Him, you mean." There was a funny note in his voice as he stood and dusted off his pants, then picked up his quidditch robe from the floor. "Ron."

Scowling, Hermione said, "Now you sound like Ginny."

He tipped his head to the side, peering at her. "And what did Ginny say?"

"I…nothing."

"She thinks you like Ron."

"No. I don't know! Maybe! But I don't! And I can't stop thinking about how I don't! I just want to stop thinking, for once! Ughhh!" She sat down heavily on the bench, digging her hands into the roots of her still-damp hair. She winced when Fred all too carefully sat down beside her.

"It doesn't have to be so complicated," he said quietly. "He wouldn't be mad at you forever. Me, without a doubt, but you, probably only for a month or two."

Leaning upright so fast that Fred held up his hands as if to show they were empty, Hermione snapped, "What would you know about it, Fred? You can't possibly imagine what it's like, always worrying about your friends, worrying about Harry, worrying about Ron, then thinking about the OWLs, about what they'll mean for the rest of my life! I have bigger ambitions than just some joke shop! I _care_ about what other people think of me! I _care_ if I get a T on my transfiguration paper! I _care_ what I make of myself, and about not letting down my parents, and about—"

Too late, she stopped short, wishing she still had the time-turner, to fix what she'd just said. Fred was staring at her, calmly, but with a look in his eyes that made him suddenly look like Ginny did whenever she saw the way Harry looked at Cho. He stood and stared for a long minute at the pool without blinking, then, nodding to himself, turned and left.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and wondered at how an O student could fail so miserably at the things that really mattered.


	18. Cut Deeply

**I thought I'd post this now instead of waiting another year. Because I do that sometimes. You know.**

**Just wanted to let everyone know who read the first 7 or so chapters long ago, when they first came out...they've all been revised. None of the plot's changed, the writing style's just been brought up to date and fine tuned and whatnot. That's all. I have some reviewer notes at the bottom. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts...you guys make my day.**

* * *

Fred opened the briefcase, scanning the orange skiving snackbox kits one last time. He and George were about to undergo a full scale sale operation down in the common room, and everything needed to be perfect. Couldn't have any ickle firsties passing out from bleeding themselves to death, or anything. That'd be nothing if not awkward.

The bed squeaked, and he glanced over his shoulder at George, who was leaning against one of his four posters, his arms folded over his chest.

"What?" Fred said to George's stare. But he already knew what was coming. Blame it on those bloody invisible feelers again.

"Look mate, it's not that I'm not happy you're not throwing yourself into our good works and all," George said carefully, watching his twin. "But you're acting downright feverish. You sure you're alright?"

"Course! Right as rain!" The feelers tingled, but he didn't need them to know George didn't believe a word of it. It'd been three days since he'd left Hermione in the prefects' bathroom, and he couldn't shake her words. Oh, maybe she'd just been rambling, upset as she was…but people tended to say what they _really _thought when they rambled. It was possible to fancy someone and still think their life-long dream of opening up a joke shop was rubbish. It was possible to fancy someone and think they were a disappointment to their parents.

"She really got under your skin, didn't she?" George asked as he helped Fred load up the snackboxes.

Fred clenched his jaw, then forced his tone to be light. "Well, it won't happen again."

George just nodded and plucked up the suitcase, knowing better then to press the subject. "Come on. Our public awaits."

Fred dusted off his trousers as he stood. With any luck, Hermione would be down in the common room for this, to see for herself what he could make of himself. She could keep her O's and her future in the ministry. When he and George opened up their shop, he'd send her a care package to brighten up the boring office hours she was doomed to. "Lord help them."

* * *

"Skyving snackboxes!"

"Sweets that make you ill!"

"Get you out of class whenever you like!"

"Obtain hours of pleasure from profitable boredom!"

"Care for another?"

Fred divvyed out snackboxes while George raked in the knuts and sickles and even the occasional galleon, both grinning like fiends. Fred explained to a panicked first year that yes, the green tint to her skin _would_ go away, but only after she bathed with bath salts no less than three times. George said no, the puking pastilles are nonrefundable, to a third year in tears. The coins were practically falling into their laps as students lined up from across the common room, particularly students of one Professor Dolores Umbridge. It was glorious.

They ran out of boxes not far into their sales event, but they had plenty of back-up sweets they kept sending Lee to fetch out from under their beds.

"Come on, Angelina," Fred teased, twiddling what looked like a caramel between his fingers, "give it a try."

"Are their side effects?" she asked suspiciously, digging in her pocket.

"Are there side effects," George scoffed, leaning on Fred's shoulder. " Why, just the temporary blindness-"

"-the rashes and hives-"

"-balding-"

"-and orexcessive hair growth in peculiar places-"

"-an affliction the muggles like to call lock jaw-"

"-a ravenous appetite-"

"-and last but not least," Fred held up his second smallest finger, wiggling it. "A strange immobility in this finger."

Angelina gaped, her hand frozen in her pocket, and then shook her head and quickly backed away, mumbling about just remembering that she owed Alicia some money anyways. Some people just had no stomach for risk. Fred shook out his hand. He'd regain the feeling in it eventually. He hoped.

His head snapped up at the sound of Hermione's laughing voice. Here he thought the next thing he'd hear from her was a reprimand to curl his toes in his trainers. Casually glancing over Angelina's shoulder, he looked for Hermione, and when he found her, stared. Because he just so happened to find her strolling into the common room with Ron. That wasn't so unusual in itself; her and Ron were best friends, after all. They'd been nigh on inseparable for five and some years now. But the way Ron was looking at her, and the way she was _not _looking at him…the first adoring, the second shy…

Did Ginny really think Hermione liked him?

"I'll do the introduction, that's all," she was saying to Ron.

"Hermione, you're honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met." She had no call to look so pleased at Ron's poor hand at wooing her. He was like an amateur cook fumbling with pans in a real chef's kitchen. Fred was, of course, the chef in this scenario. And Hermione was his pans. _His_ pans. "If I'm ever rude to you again-"

"I'll know you've gone back to normal."

"Excuse me? Excuse me?" Someone tugged at Fred's sleeve, and he distractedly looked down at a first year who he thought he literally could've folded into a matchbox. The scrawny boy lowered his voice and looked both ways, shifty-eyed. "I wanted to inquire about your…love potions?"

"Love potions," Fred said, "are illegal." And then he started across the room, meaning to stuff his little brother in the hearth and take back his pans.

"Oi!" George whispered, catching him around the shoulders and yanking him to the wall with a grunt. "Easy! What gives? Did you see what that kid was holding? A bag of galleons, Fred, _galleons_!"

"Ron's got my bloody pans," Fred growled, wrestling George for freedom, "and I want them back!"

"Your—bloody hell, you mean _Hermione_? Quit squirming, you'll scare away all our customers!"

With effort, Fred straightened up and pulled in a deep, calming breath while George tentatively released him on good behavior. George was right. No need to be hasty. Customers first, Ron's premature death later. It wasn't as though he and Ron were on even footing –Ron had nowhere near the experience that Fred did when it came to this side of Hermione. Even if Hermione was his best friend…and he spent nearly every waking hour with her…and…

"I think I need to get out of here," Fred said a little unsteadily, looking to George for help. His twin glanced at their waiting client s, took a good look at Fred's sickly-looking face, and said, "Feel like jumping out the dormitory window?"

Fred said in a grave voice, "You have no idea."

After folding up the rest of their stock to the dismayed groans of those who hadn't made it to the front of the line, the twins started up the stairwell. Pausing only to shove their new savings under their bed and pull out their broomsticks instead, they raced each other to the window, simultaneously raised their wands, and shouted, "_Devertio!_"

The glass pane in the stone window casing blinked out of existence. Fred went first. Holding his broomstick firmly, he took a running step, kicked off the window casing, and fell out of the tower. Twisting as he fell, he pinned the broomstick between his legs and jerked its nose up before he could crash, whooping.

When George had joined him, he flew up over the wall and the turrets, past the vacant astronomy tower. Students on the quidditch team weren't strictly unallowed to fly between classes, but this was after hours, and flying in the dark was always tricky at best. McGonnagal would probably stretch their ears if she caught them zipping between the shadowy towers as they were now.

"So I take it you don't want to talk about this whole pesky Hermione business," George said as he raced Fred around the castle, the wind rushing in his red hair, smoothing it back against his head.

"No," Fred agreed firmly, turning his broom handle and skimming along a stone wall, so close to it, it brushed his clothes. "Do you think she likes Ron?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?"

"Do you?"

"Of course I don't want to talk about it. Hermione and you and Ron…it's weird."

"No, I mean do you think she likes him?"

"Ah. Well. I don't think she likes him…that she knows of."

Fred pulled up on his broomstick so that it slowed to a stop just over the tallest peak of Hogwarts' rooftops, and dropped down onto the slate tiles, standing. George had said exactly what Fred had been thinking (not the first instance of such a phenomenon). He didn't think Hermione liked Ron _now_…but what about next year, when Fred was gone and Ron was still there, still in love with her? Hermione was one of the only things keeping Fred at Hogwarts. He and George had decided to finish out school because they owed it to Dumbledore and their parents, but they had more than enough between them to buy that flat they'd been eying in Diagon Alley and officially opening Weasley Wizard Wheezes. He wondered if even now, Hermione and Ron would be together if it weren't for him deciding to stick it out another year. An uncomfortable thought.

"Here's a thought," George said lightly as he touched down beside Fred, leaning on his broomstick like a walking stick. "Why don't you just _tell_ Ron?"

"Because Hermione doesn't want me to."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten. You always do what you're told, now, don't you?"

Fred leveled George with a warning glare, fiddling with his wand. "You know I can hex you so that people start to refer to us as Fred and 'oh my dear Merlin, what is that thing', don't you?"

"They'll have to learn to abbreviate."

Laughing, the twins launched off the roof, swooping down over the grounds like a pair of owls, albeit a pair of loud, mischievous owls that kept shooting spells at each other's backs. George chased Fred around The Whomping Willow, which thrashed wildly after them both, missing Fred by just a hair. Fred led the chase down over the lake and the sleeping giant squid, spraying up a column of water at George with his wand and a shouted, "Bathe much, Georgey?" In reply, George levitated one of the limp arms of the squid and very nearly got Fred stuck in a bludger-sized suction cup. Touche.

Just as the game was getting really good - Fred was zooming back toward the castle, aiming to zip in the open library window and continue the pursuit indoors – a bolt of white-hot light came out of the sky and struck the ground not a foot to Fred's left. Shouting, he careened to the right, over compensating and then tipping off his broom to land on his back in the bushes. George tumbled to a stop in the grass beside him a moment later, groaning.

A squat little figure moseyed its way across the grounds, lighting its path with a pink-tipped wand. The skulking form of Filch huddled behind one of Umbridge's shoulders, while behind the other, McGonnagal towered, looking very stern indeed.

"Misters Weasley," McGonnagal began to scold as they scrambled stiffly to their feet. Umbridge cleared her throat with an annoying little, "Hem hem!", smiling that predatory smile at the twins. They exchanged a look. Fred brushed a leaf out of his hair uneasily.

"Children," she said slowly, as if Fred and George had both taken knocks to the head. "You do realize…well, surely you must…but flying after hours with that reckless abandonment could've been _very _dangerous. Why, you could've been killed!"

George looked at Fred, dusting off his grass-stained shirt. "I'm alive. You, Fred?"

"So far as I can tell. Sometimes it takes a while to show, though."

McGonnagal's mouth tightened behind Umbridge's back, but strangely…Fred thought she was trying to _warn _them. Against what?

"I had heard you two were," Umbridge giggled, and then emphasized, "rascals. But really. I do think the only way we can resolve this unfortunate display of disregard for the rules is detention. Say…tomorrow morning in my office."

"Dolores-" McGonnagal began, but Umbridge held up a hand.

"Now, now, Minerva. I do insist. You let me handle Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley." It might've been Fred's imagination, but he thought Umbridge's eyes flashed in the dark, like a cat's. "They're in good hands."

* * *

Hermione looked for Fred at lunch – she always looked for Fred at lunch – but neither he nor George came. That was odd. Even mad at Hermione, Fred usually didn't skip meals. And he _was_ still mad at her, if last night had been any sort of proof. She and him had had an agreement…she wouldn't look too hard at any suspicious activity happening around him and George, and he wouldn't break rules right where she could see. Last night had been a public display of his total disregard for their deal. How could he expect her to apologize for what she'd said if he wouldn't even talk to her? She was miserable over the things she'd said. Her worry over the situation with Ron and her anxiety for Harry had just opened up a shambling floodgate inside of her and let out all the words she usually held in tight restraint. Oh, Fred. Would this thing between them _ever _get easier? Shouldn't something that felt so perfect when it went smoothly be easier to keep…well, smooth? Or was the fact they had to work so hard at it mean that it was worth fighting for?

She would've walked right up to him and said she was sorry in front of everyone last night if it weren't for Harry's hand. That horrible cow, Umbridge! How dare she even have the nerve to call those…those _torture sittings _detention! Hermione was sure she could find a law that prohibited the physical punishment of students – otherwise Mr. Filch's grimy dungeons would still be in use. And all Harry had done was stand up to her and tell the class the truth. It was infuriating.

After they had finished with lunch, Hermione, Harry, and Ron packed up and started for class together.

"What do you suppose that's about?" Ron asked, jerking his chin at some commotion taking place out in the courtyard, where more and more students were gathering.

"Dunno," Harry said with a worried frown. The crowd bore them along, sweeping them out into the packed courtyard. "What?" he added as Hermione suddenly gasped.

"Oh…just…stubbed my toe," she said with a wince. When Harry nodded and looked away – though Hermione didn't think he'd really bought that see-through lie – she twisted and peered between black-robed students at Fred and George, who were near the middle back of the crowd. They didn't look happy, not by any stretch of the word, and that in itself was strange. Even if they _weren't_ happy, the twins usually had a smile on hand.

Hand. His hand. Fred's hand.

She squinted, and sure enough, as Fred crossed his arms over his chest, she spotted what looked like raw, red chicken scratches cutting across the back of his hand. They must've gotten detention with Umbridge, just like Harry. As Fred suddenly frowned and looked around, as though feeling her eyes on him, she gasped again and straightened up, flattening down her skirt nervously.

The rest of the scene came into focus. Umbridge and McGonnagal were arguing on the courtyard steps about what McGonnagal had called Umbridge's "medieval methods". She must've gotten wind of Fred and George and Harry's foul excuse for detentions. Even though Hermione half-hoped the head of Gryffindor would put Umbridge back in her place, she wasn't surprised, only dismayed, when McGonnagal was forced to step down from the fight so that Umbridge smugly towered a few steps over her.

"Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared," Umbridge announced in that gratingly perky voice. "Cornelius will want to take immediate action."

* * *

As the crowds broke apart, Hermione breathlessly told Ron and Harry she'd catch up with them in class, then hurried after where she'd last seen Fred and George.

"Fred!" she called at the back of his head. He walked faster, readjusting his backpack over his shoulder. "Fred, wait! Please!"

She could see him sighing from here. Without turning around, he stopped, waiting for her to catch up as George went on ahead. Before he turned the corner, George shot Hermione a look that was a clear, level warning. Tread carefully.

"What is it?" Fred asked curtly, still not looking at her.

She stared at his hand, gripping the arm of his bag so that the red scratches stood out starkly. Following her gaze, he grunted and shoved the hand in his pocket, walking onward again.

"Fred," Hermione pleaded, hurrying to keep up with him. Students coming from the opposite direction jostled her; Pansy Parkinson elbowed her hard enough to make her cough. For a second, she thought Fred was about to say something to Pansy's back, but stopped himself.

Growling, Hermione grabbed a fistful of Fred's black jumper and tugged him behind a statue, where he was forced to look at her. He looked exasperated.

"_What?_" he repeated testily. "Look, I've got another detention in an hour and homework to do before then. And yes, I do homework. Occasionally. This happens to be charms homework, and it entails making George sing like a little girl. It's hardly – ow, Hermione."

Hermione had taken his hand and turned it over in the light so she could run a careful finger over the scratches, which weren't carved as deeply as Harry's. Yet.

"What did you do?" she whispered. Fred's hand twitched in hers, like he was on the verge of pulling it away. "I can't read it. What did she make you write?"

"Oh, that's not what I wrote," Fred said dryly. "That's _George's _handwriting. She seemed to think the whole thing would be more effective if we-"

"She made you do it to each other?" Hermione gasped.

"Yup. Taking turns. I'd write, and watch George take it, and then he'd write, and then I'd write, etcetera, etcetera. A bit boring, really. And I don't much fancy the idea of being branded with George's infantile handwriting for the rest of my life." He made a noise of unhappy surprise as she threw her arms around his waist and nestled her head into his chest. After all, two minutes ago, they hadn't even been on speaking terms. If she thought he was going to be that quick to forget what she'd said, let alone what he'd seen between her and Ron last night in the common room, she had another thing coming. "Come on, Hermione. Let up."

With a sigh, Hermione pulled back, anxiously tucking a curl behind her ear. She could see him pulling away, trying to leave. "Fred, I'm so sorry about what I said," she said in a rush, stopping him from going with a hand. "I was just so tangled up inside…I wasn't thinking clearly. Please don't be angry with me. I can't stand it when we're not talking."

Fred echoed her sigh, almost smiling. "Do you ever notice how we're not talking _most _of the time?"

"It…it does seem as though it happens a lot."

"Do you think that's normal?"

"I don't know. I've never been in love before."

Fred made a noise that sounded as though someone had trodden on his lungs, wheezing. He coughed, thumping himself in the chest, before standing straight again and staring her beadily in the eye. She didn't seem to be joking, even though her eyes were twinkling.

"Come again?"

"I said I don't know. I've never been in love before."

He studied her until she broke off their stare, looking down at her feet as though embarrassed. Blimey. She really did mean it. His stomach felt like it had last night, when he'd been diving out of that window and performing flips in the air on his broom.

"Hermione Granger," he said, shaking his head slowly, "you are a complicated person at the best of times, and a complete brain tease at the worst." With that, he started away from her again, shouldering his bag with his good hand.

"Wait! Fred!"

"Yes?"

"Do you…I mean, everything's okay now, isn't it?" Hermione asked, looking up at him with those eyes to make a fellow feel like someone had hit his knees with a jelly legs jinx. "You're not angry anymore?"

"Yes to the second, I don't know to the first," Fred answered, resisting the terrible urge to drag her back to that statue and kiss her till _her_ legs felt like jelly. _Focus, Fred_, he warned himself. One little misstep, and he'd be doing just that, and forget his resolution to hereafter proceed with caution wherever Hermione Granger was concerned. "There's just some things I need to sort through, right now. With the joke shop."

"Oh. Alright."

"And…Hermione?"

"Yes?"

With a frown down at the back of his stinging hand, Fred said, "Stay away from Umbridge, alright?"

* * *

**kayseechan: closure, on the way, roger that. **

**londongirl27: ahh! i haven't seen you in so long! thanks so much for sticking with me. i appreciate what you said about the hermione dilemma...i find her an annoyingly hard character to write, but i think of any conflict she'd have over fred, it'd definitely be that he makes her something more than just "bookish". like another reviewer said, it's just hard to see her being lovey dovey. lovey dovey scenes with hermione are like the black spot on my writing day. they kill my brain cells. oh, and if you DO put together a fremoine vid, i'd LURV to see it.**

**following padfoots pawprints: thanks for the typo catch. hermione surely shouldn't be 13 in that scene. ^^**

**cocoacollidoscope: first of all, you should've seen me trying to spell your sn right. secondly...i'm sad you missed out on the heavy kissing. i had it for all of about 12 hours before i gigglingly took it down. but there'll be more kisses to come, so long as fred gets his game together and hermione gets a pill for her verbal diarrhea, as you so aptly put it. and i totally hear you on the movie thing. i'll watch the 6th one because i love HP, but MAN, they screw that one up. burning burrow, what? and ginny and harry's relationship? she's like a creeper. i love her actress, they just wrote the thing all wrong. okay. soapbox, done.**

**night, all. remember, the first 7 chapters were revised and edited. you know, b/c i wrote them 6 whole years ago (six. years.), when i myself was of a ripe ickle age with hermione. i laughed out loud at a couple old sentences i had. how do you carress someone's eyes? sounds painful.**


	19. How to Properly Cook a Pie, by Fred W

_hezo again. back to surprise you all with a second update in one year. please, don't get up. i'm finally getting to the part I've been dying to write for ages._

_because i still have so much more matieral to cover (I'm taking the story right up to the end of DH), i'm not going to cover all of OoTP as thoroughly as i might've planned before. what i mean to say is…things are going to speed up. expect to see more montage paragraphs rather than whole scenes from the movie covered._

_there are some review replies at the end for you all…enjoy!_

_xtheothertwin_

* * *

_SMACK_.

Fred looked up, startled, as Angelina dropped a fat book next to his feet, which were propped comfortably on a table in the Gryffindor common room. It was late afternoon, and as gloomy outside as Moaning Myrtle was on the inside. The common room was mostly empty, save for him, George, and a few third years currently engrossed in a game of exploding snaps over by the hearth.

"I hate her," Angelina declared, slumping into a chair and laying her face down on the book she'd dropped—a book on quidditch strategies, Fred saw with a grimace. Had he really thought she'd be a saint compared to Oliver? Because she was like a taskmaster. He was surprised she hadn't resorted to lashing a whip at their backsides as she worked them through drill after bloody exhausting drill…

Still. The girl looked frazzled bordering on crazed. He and George exchanged a look, and George patted her absently on the head.

"There there," he said. "Are you referring to the toad charading as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Wears pink a lot?" Fred added as he distractedly rolled a galleon across the backs of his knuckles. "And bows? Makes a noise like—"

"_Hem hem_?" George finished helpfully, in an uncanny if slightly disturbing impression of Umbridge that made the third years jump and look around frantically.

Angelina groaned without lifting her head as behind her, Katie and Alicia slipped into the common room, looking just as battle worn. "Yes. It's not enough that I'm barely passing her joke of a class—"

"Please don't call it a joke," Fred inserted, wincing. "It gives jokes a bad name."

She spared him a withering glare before continuing. "Anyways. Now she's poking her nose into quidditch. Honestly, this year was supposed to be _good_. We were supposed to win the cup. Everything was supposed to work out. And now this. Has she let up on your detentions yet?"

Fred barely stopped himself from massaging the back of his hand, though he did absently glance at it, at the not-quite-faded red, irritated letters scratched into his skin. He and George hadn't let anyone look too closely at that writing. It wouldn't help business any if their prospective customers saw that Fred and George Weasley, mischief makers extraordinaire, had more or less been tattooed with _I Must Not Make Mischief_.

"Last one's today," George said, sounding half relieved, half glum. Relieved, because after this, they'd be done with the old cow. Glum, because that still meant going one more time, and sitting in that putrid office for another hour.

Alicia, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear, settled down next to him with a sigh. "She's right, though. We're not going to stand a chance at the cup if we can't—"

They all jumped as the portrait of the fat lady swung open to the sounds of barely-contained shouting. Coming from none other than one mister pubescent, angst-ridden, Harry Potter. Harry always seemed to be miffed, lately. Miffed at Ron, miffed at Dumbledore, miffed at Seamus, miffed at Hermione…who happened to be the focus of his not-quite-shouts right now. Fred watched her mildly as she hurried in after Harry, her dark eyes big and worried, her mouth slightly open for words Harry wouldn't let her get out.

"Look, there's no point," he growled, exasperated as he threw his bag violently into an armchair and then collapsed next to it. "I'm not going to pretend to go along with all her rubbish when she knows I don't believe it. At least this way I can—"

"Keep on getting detentions!" Hermione finished, her voice higher than usual. She was so caught up in her argument with Harry, she didn't seem to notice anyone else in the room, including Fred. Which suited him just fine. He was still ironing out what exactly she'd meant by throwing "I love you" at him. Alright, it hadn't been "I love you"; it had been "I've never been in love before". Close enough. Really, the two were practically interchangeable. People should just go around saying the latter in place of the first. They _were_ the same thing. They were. She loved him.

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Harry muttered tiredly. Noticing the others in the corner, he leaned up, brightening a little. "Quidditch practice tonight?"

Angelina groaned in answer. When Harry blinked, confused, Katie explained, "Umbridge cancelled practice. Due to the 'inclement weather'."

"What? She can't do that!"

"No," Hermione agreed, solemn, "she can't. She's not the head of Gryffindor. She has no right." For a second, she and Fred locked eyes, and he felt that irksome twisting sensation in his stomach again. They _were_ the same thing. So now he just needed to figure out if he was supposed to say…er…"I've never been in love before"…back.

He gave his head a shake to return him to the moment, blaming Hermione for distracting him. Her caramel brown hair, tousled in its braid? Distraction. The way her Gryffindor jumper and tie looked so neat when everyone else had given up on adhering to the dress code hours ago? Distraction. The sad little smile Fred caught the second before she turned back to Harry? Distraction with a big bloody D.

Suddenly, Fred jerked up straight in his chair and whipped a pen out from his robe. "George, I've got it! Distracter Dumplings! Need to pull something right under someone's nose? Distract them with a dumpling that will distract them delirious!"

George's eyes crinkled as he grinned, but as he opened his mouth, Lee stormed in, scowling something fierce. He practically overturned his chair settling into it.

"I hate her," he grumbled morosely.

Alicia told him grimly, "Welcome to the club."

"We should get jackets," George suggested. He tipped his head to the side, and his eyes glazed, as if he was actually considering it. "Though I'd lean away from the pink. Clashes something awful with my hair."

Across the room, Hermione made a quiet noise that caused Fred to glance back over his shoulder, though he tried playing off the movement by pretending to stretch. She had that adorable look about her, the one leftover from her very worst know-it-all years. Straight-backed, expression fierce, thoughtful, and slightly triumphant. Fred grunted as George kicked him under the table, and realized he'd been stretching for a full thirty seconds. Distraction!

* * *

"I feel," George began slowly, hanging his hand limply, "like I've been gnawed on by a pair of dull scissors."

Daubing the beads of blood off the back of his hand, Fred snorted. At least they were done with the detentions. This time. He couldn't say why precisely, but he was 100% sure that he and George would return to Umbridge's office (a.k.a, Kitten Hell), in due time. He really didn't think a few scarred words on the backs of their hands were going to be enough to stop them from fulfilling their destiny. Mischief was their calling. It was going to take more than one fluffy fanged ogre to turn them from it.

The twins walked down toward The Great Hall, more than ready for some dinner and hot cider to take the edge off of the rainy, chilly evening. Umbridge's office had been cold. Fred would venture to say almost as cold as her cold, black heart. Maybe that was a bit dramatic, but then, times like these called for Harry-appropriate dramatics.

"You know," George said quietly as they pattered down a marble staircase threatening to shift positions at any second, "if things keep going the way they're going…with Umbridge…and quidditch…"

Fred looked at him, Twin Feelers out and working. "Yeah," he said just as quietly, "I know. Katie was right. This year wasn't supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be our grand finale before crossing over into the joke shop world. Not…whatever this is."

"It's bollocks."

"Thank you for that gentle clarification."

"I suppose someone has to be gentle with you, nowadays. What with Hermione dragging you around by your—" He broke off, choking, as they turned a corner and about plowed right over Hermione, who was standing there with a knowing little smirk, her hands clasped over her stomach. She'd changed out of uniform, into a pair of brown trousers and a grey jumper that looked soft. Fred was tempted to see if physics would allow him to kick himself. It looked _soft_? This was what Hermione was turning him into. The kind of guy who sees a perfectly fine jumper and says, "Oh, that looks soft." He disgusted himself.

"Hello, George."

"Hermione," George greeted warily, his eyes flickering back and forth between Hermione and Fred. He jerked his chin at his twin, simultaneously shooting him a wry look that the Feelers went to town trying to interpret. "I suppose you're here for him?"

"The both of you, actually." Hermione looked around, fidgety, before going on. "I've had an idea. Well, it was really your idea, George." George's red eyebrows shot up his forehead, but Hermione was off and running. "What you said in the common room, about having an I Hate Umbridge Club…no, I'm not really thinking about starting one, stop grinning like that. But I've just been talking with Ron and Harry, and they agree. It's time we took our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes into our own hands. We _have_ to learn how to defend ourselves, and with Umbridge set on us never even using our wands in class, that will never happen unless we…that is, unless we—"

"Set up some extracurricular practice?" Fred suggested, still grinning despite Hermione's warning not to. "You do realize that would include—dare I even breathe it—_rule breaking_?"

With a dramatic gasp, George touched his chest and closed his eyes, whispering feebly, "Be still my beating heart."

Scowling and blushing at the same time—the effect was pretty fetching—Hermione said hotly, "Yes, I do realize that. And I happen to think it's worth it, to learn some proper defense. I'd break every rule in the book if it meant knowing how to do a patronus charm like Harry can." But her voice still shook a little breathily at just the mention of it. "And since Harry's agreed to teach us, we'll learn much more than we would on our own. Well?"

Exchanging a slow look, the twins frowned. It wasn't the thought of breaking more rules that bothered them, or even the fact that said rule breaking had been put forward by Hermione Granger. It was that they didn't know how much of the class they'd really be around for, if they went through with their plans and took off with their joke shop before the end of the school year. Still. One class or ten, any extra practice wouldn't go amiss. For Merlin's sake, all they'd been doing in Umbridge's sorry class for the last three weeks was learning to keep their mouths shut, and that could do with unlearning. Besides…if it meant Fred spending extra time with Hermione…extra time before he left…

"Time and place," he and George said in unison, and Hermione beamed at them, though her eyes held Fred's longer than George's. He winked at her, testing the waters, and the blush came back, pinker than before. Ha.

"The Hogsmeade trip, this weekend. We'll meet at that one pub off the way, the one that no one really—"

"The Hog's Head?"

"It's one of our favorite haunts."

"Best butterbeer this side of the country, once the proprietor slips in a shot or two of firewhiskey."

"Anyways," Hermione put in, eying them distastefully. "Be there at noon. Tell anyone you think might take this seriously, but no one you don't trust to keep a secret. If Umbridge knew…"

"_Hem hem_."

Fred's lungs went cold as that grating little voice announced a presence behind him. Honestly, it would've been less frightening for someone to have screamed, "FIRE!" Or for that matter, just _lit_ him _on_ fire. Hermione, standing shell-shocked before him, was staring past his shoulder with her brown eyes big and round on her color-drawn face. Meeting George's eyes for a fraction of a second, Fred turned to face Umbridge and forced a smile that might've been more of a bearing of teeth thing.

Despite her predatory little smile, Umbridge's cold eyes said she would brook no nonsense as she looked him and George up and down. "Misters Weasleys," she said sweetly, tilting her head to the side like a fat, pink bird watching a worm wriggling on the ground. "I thought I dismissed you to dinner?"

"We were just—"

"—on our way there."

"I see."

Fred's thought the grinding of his teeth was probably audible as he watched Umbridge's beady eyes flicker past him and George and settle on Hermione, flashing. If that bloody woman so much as—he drew a breath through his nostrils as George stepped on his foot none-too-lightly. Right. The plan was to leave the school of their own accord, _not_ to get expelled.

"Why, Ms. Granger," Umbridge cooed, pleased. "Isn't it funny, me finding you alone. You're nearly always with Mr. Potter. But then, you're best friends, aren't you?" You would've thought she was talking to an eight-year-old. She forced one of her breathy giggles. "I would expect you known him _awfully _well."

Tilting his chin just enough to eye Hermione over his shoulder, Fred saw her nod, saw her pull back her shoulders and push up her chin, defiant, but timidly so. She wasn't going to let herself get bullied, and that was fine, but Fred wasn't going to let her get bullied either. He stole a step to the left, closing the gap between his and George's shoulders and making a wall between Umbridge and Hermione.

Blinking, Umbridge glanced at him sharply; her smile deepened, putting dimples in her cheeks. "Run along now, children," she said, tut-tutting. "Let's not be idle, hmm? Ms. Granger, I would so enjoy having you to tea in my office sometime. Perhaps next week Tuesday?"

"Yes," Hermione said weakly, "maybe."

And then the ugly, evil, corpulent, nasty…that is, Professor Umbridge, left. Fred felt as stiff as a petrified garden gnome until she disappeared down the next corridor, the heels of her shoes smartly click-clicking into the distance.

"Blimey. You think she heard us?" George asked, huffing a sigh of relief.

"Dunno," Fred admitted unhappily, turning back to Hermione, who was frowning darkly after Umbridge. "Guess we'll have to wait and see. You alright, Hermione?"

"What?" Hermione glanced at him, bemused, and then gave a jerk. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. I wonder if…never mind. She's just awful, isn't she? She makes my skin crawl. And she wants to question me about Harry."

"Well," Fred said, forcing his tone to be light, "we'll just have to keep you too busy for her to get her hands on. I have a few ideas you might be keen on."

Making a disgusted sound, George started walking backwards down the corridor. "Look, if you're going to start on that, I'm going on to dinner without you." He sighed loudly as Hermione smilingly reached out and took Fred's bad hand, turning it gently over to inspect it.

That was fine. Fred's appetite had been moved out to make room for the butterflies gallivanting in his stomach as Hermione's finger traced the words graven into his skin. "Go on, then. I'll meet you back in The Common Room." He made himself ignore George's faked retching noises as he stole a step closer to Hermione, close enough to smell her hair and cast his long shadow over her.

After a long moment of standing like that, Hermione said, "It's snowing out."

"That's probably because it's winter."

"Really?" Hermione said, trying for sarcasm but missing it by a mark. Still holding his hand with both of hers, she looked up at him. "Walk with me?"

Nodding, then looking both ways to make sure they were alone, Fred started leading her for the courtyard. The open, columned walkway let in tufts of snow that stuck to his skin and made him wish for his jacket, upstairs on his bed. And if he was cold, Hermione had to be. Girls were always cold. Fortunately, there was plenty of Fred to go around. Or there used to be, before Hermione. Nowadays, there was just enough of him for her, so long as she'd make up her mind about she wanted that much or not.

"What were you and George talking about?" Hermione asked as they walked, blinking into the snow.

Strangely, the truth about his and George's doubts about remaining at Hogwarts stopped up in his throat. He swallowed. Whatever he and Hermione were…he should be able to tell her anything. He knew that. But the thought of telling her he might be leaving—leaving _her_, essentially—and the picture of her reaction pulled him up short. They were just getting back on somewhat firmer footing. Call him a sap (Go on then, do it. George probably would.) but he wanted whatever time they had left together to be spent well, not on the rocks.

"Hogwarts," he answered vaguely, and she eyed him as if she knew that was only a partial truth. She led him to a bench squared between two hedges and sat down sideways, her legs folded beneath her, to face him. Then she took his hand and sat it on her knee, and started rummaging around in her trouser pockets.

"I've tried a few small spells with Harry," she explained as she pulled out a thumb-sized tube with a silver stopper shaped like a bell, "and nothing really helps the scarring. But Professor Sprout gave me this under the table the other day, and it at least takes the irritation away. May I?"

"By all means, rub ointment on me."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dotted a bit of greenish paste onto her fingertip and then started spreading it over the back of his hand. Fred just watched her watching their hands, looking intent on what she was doing and perfectly content to sit there in silence. The snow caught in her hair, sparkling in the light cast by the castle windows.

"Do you love me, Hermione?"

She jumped, and looked up at him like he'd grown himself a pair of fuzzy antlers, though she knew perfectly well what those would look like, having grown a pair herself last Christmas.

"Yes," she answered, for a wonder, perfectly calmly. How was she calm? Fred felt like those pesky butterflies down around his middle were throwing a raucous party and tipping back pints of firewhiskey. "But I love Ron, too. And Harry. And Ginny."

Fred stared at her. "Well. That complicates things."

Smiling down at his hand as she carefully rolled the ointment over it with her finger, she said, "You know what I mean, Fred."

"And _you_ know what _I _mean. That's not the kind of love I'm talking about."

"I know."

"I mean, you were kind of…what's the word… _ambiguous_..."

"I love that word."

"It's a good word. Anyways, that's what you were back there, with the whole 'I've never been in love before' thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm 98% sure you do love me…but putting it that way…it's like saying it without having to say it because you're scared of actually saying it. Ouch."

"Sorry." He thought she meant the apology in more ways than one. Girls. Were. Complicated.

"Well," he said roughly, pulling his hand out of her care so that she looked up at him with a frown, "if it makes any difference, I'm completely unambiguously in love with you."

Hermione's eyes widened, and spots of color appeared on her cheeks, but the look of dull shock on her face wasn't quite the rapturous reaction he'd hoped for. Biting her bottom lip, she dodged his stare, looking instead down at her hands as she wrung them on her lap.

"But why?" she asked softly. "You were right, Fred. I've been terrible to you, not being able to make up my mind, saying one thing and then…and then the thing with Ron…"

Growling, Fred stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, suppressing a wince when his bad hand prickled. As he started marching away from the bench and a startled Hermione, he snapped, "Why does Ron always have to pop his ugly nose into these conversations?"

"But he isn't!" Hermione exclaimed as she tripped after him. "It's me! It's my fault! Don't blame—"

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," Fred explained in a low voice, glaring into the snow and stalking in the general direction of Hagrid's cabin, which looked like a poor man's gingerbread house with its snow-covered roof and curling chimney smoke. "If you didn't like him, Hermione, you wouldn't keep bringing him up."

"That not true! Ron's my _best friend_, Fred! You know that! I couldn't just…oh, I ruin everything!"

The sudden change of pace caught Fred off guard; he looked over at her, blinking, before remembering how angry he was. He would've gone right back to sulking, only Hermione's eyes were glistening, and he really thought she meant was she said…that she ruined everything.

Sighing, Fred stopped and turned to face her. "Come on, Hermione, that's not true. At least, not as far as I'm concerned." She looked at him, eyebrows wrinkled softly together, and he clarified gracelessly, "Because everything's been better since you started looking at me differently. You don't ruin anything. Not ever. Even when you're the most annoying, perplexing, complicated female I know. You make everything…better."

Hermione's sniffle turned into a soggy laugh, but before he could bristle at being laughed at, she said in a rush, "Can we try this whole thing over again?"

"The _whole_ thing?" Fred repeated, voice cracking.

"No no," Hermione quickly assured him, "just this conversation. The part where you said you were in love with me."

"Don't be vain, now."

"I won't."

"Alright. I'm in love with you."

"And I," Hermione declared, loud and clear, "am in love with you." Then she burst into giggles, covering her mouth with her hands. "That sounds so strange, doesn't it?"

"It does," Fred agreed, grinning. Hermione yelped as he roped an arm around her waist and yanked her into him, then planted a loud, smack of a kiss on her forehead. "But it's good to hear. Everything else can be ironed out later. And by later, I mean after a good snog."

"And by everything else, you mean—"

"So help me, Hermione, if you say my little brother's name right now, I will turn you into a pygmy puff."

Hermione's purposeful silence was just as loud as if she had yelled Ron's name, and despite those bloody butterflies getting down in Fred's stomach, he sighed. Hermione made everything better. But she also made everything more complicated. But if that was the worst side effect he could expect from hearing her say she was in love with him (which he'd totally called, by the way), well…he could do complicated.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked him, pulling her hands back into her sleeves to hide them from the cold, then resting them against his chest.

"Just pondering over possible places we could snog," he said lightly, glancing around. "I think I've used up most of the best ones, but—"

"The Shrieking Shack ?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. His impish grin made her skin break out in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the snow.

"And how, pray tell, do you think it got its name?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione lightly slapped his chest, laughing but also squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, as if trying to banish an unwelcome image. It was the kind of cute that made Fred feel warm and stupid inside.

They continued their walk around the courtyard, not straying too far out into the wintry night, and hiding their held hands when someone passed by near enough to make them out. Even though the walk was easy and unhurried, Fred could feel the time speeding by, slipping away before he could fully enjoy each minute of it. It wasn't fair.

"I've had an epiphany," Fred suddenly declared, stopping so suddenly in his tracks, Hermione was yanked backwards by her hand still caught in his and would've tripped if not for his quick reflexes. Which might've been his plan to begin with, if his smirk said anything. "A camp out."

"What?"

"You heard me. We'll go back to our common room and fetch our coats and some necessities and then I'll sneak you out the old fashioned way, and we'll set up shop in The Shrieking Shack."

"Fred…" Hermione started slowly shaking her head at everything that was wrong with that idea. Never mind the fact they'd be breaking rules…stay out all night? When they had class tomorrow, and the threat of Umbridge's detentions hanging over their heads? And what would everyone think when neither of them came to bed? Suddenly, despite the thick chill in the air, she felt very, very warm. "We couldn't possibly…" She trailed off at his puppy dog stare, his heartbroken expression that she had no doubt was a total farce. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any less effective. She laughingly clutched her hair in two fists. "I can't believe I'm saying yes."

With a triumphant crow, Fred started dragging her into the castle at for him, was probably a comfortable jog, but for Hermione, was a breathless sprint.

"I'll knick us some goods from the kitchens," he said eagerly. "If you've never tried toasting pie over a campfire, you're in for a real treat."

* * *

Hermione hadn't been in The Shrieking Shack since her third year, and she was surprised to find that it was so much less scary now, despite the dark night and the cold snow. Maybe it was because Fred seemed to know his way around the old leaning house so well, leading her by the hand through dark hall after dark hall without even lighting his wand. Which made her wonder…maybe he'd been being serious about the snogging thing. He had kissed eleven and a half girls, after all.

Fred set up their "camp" in one of the dining rooms rather than the bedrooms, sliding their separate quilts under the tall, spidery dining room table, making a fort of sorts. There was already a burned groove in the dusty floorboards from where numerous fires had been lit before, and true to his word, Fred made a bona fide campfire the old fashioned muggle way, using a flint and some broken chair legs. His father would've been proud. Then he set up a little rack he'd made out of butterknives no doubt stolen one at a time out of The Great Hall and produced, to Hermione's exasperated amusement, a blackberry pie, which he set to warming over the fire without delay.

"Oh, I can't believe I'm doing this," Hermione said, shaking her head at herself as she pulled her bed quilt up around her shoulders. Pavarti and Lavender had mercifully been asleep when Fred had appeared at their dormitory window on his broomstick, but Ginny had very nearly hexed him out of the sky, taking him for a peeping Tom.

Fred glanced up at her from under his red bangs. "Come now. You and Harry and Ron have snuck out loads of times, don't bother denying it, because me and George have seen you out and about often enough. I should teach you how to stalk properly."

Sniffing, Hermione informed him, "I can stalk very well on my own, thank you. And those were all for perfectly good, legitimate reasons. This is…" She gestured wordlessly, at a loss. Seeing Fred frown slightly down at the pie, his eyebrows drawing together, she hastily amended, "I mean, this is just different, is all. But it's fun. I suppose it's even a date."

Without looking up from the pie he was tending oh so carefully, Fred smiled. "I guess it is at that."

After they'd eaten the pie and chatted around the fire for a little, Fred took her exploring, showed her the house's other secret passages, and pointed out rooms that had to do with some story or another. Hermione only really half-listened, but it wasn't because she wasn't interested—or impressed, for that matter, with how much he knew about the history of the place. She was just getting tired; it was far past after hours, and she'd been up at dawn this morning, studying for her runes test. When Fred led her back to their hut in the dining room, she was so cloudy-minded, she nearly didn't register how odd it was that she and Fred Weasley were staying the night in a fort in The Shrieking Shack. It was like something she would have done with her neighbor friends when she was eight or nine, yet it felt perfectly normal.

Until she watched Fred pull off his trainers and wrap them in a spare shirt for a makeshift pillow. Oh. She was staying the night in a fort…in The Shrieking Shack…with Fred Weasley.

Fred looked up at her short, hysterical giggle, and she quickly cleared her throat.

"Sorry," she apologized needlessly, brushing hair behind her ear, shifting her weight from foot to foot, smoothing down her jacket—all in attempt to appear cool and collected without great success. "I'm calm."

She should've asked one of the older girls for advice; Angelina or Katie had probably been in this position before. She blushed wildly, panicked. Well, hopefully not this _exact _position. She didn't like dwelling on the thought of Fred and his eleven and a half female counterparts.

With a roguish grin that suggested he'd read her mind, Fred gave his coat's zipper an overenthusiastic pull down and then winced and stuck his finger in his mouth. It made her feel instantly better about almost tripping when she went to turn down her blankets.

Fred had layered their blankets thickly over the hard wood floor, arranged them so they would be sleeping head to head, with the fire the point of the triangle above them. Pulling her wand out of her coat pocket, Hermione past a softening spell to make their beds cushier, then quietly sat down and pulled her blankets up over her lap.

"Hermione…" She blinked at the hesitant note in Fred's voice, glancing at him with a frown. He was being very deliberate about getting into his bed, clearly full of thought. "There's something...I should tell you."

She'd guessed as much. She hadn't heard much of what he and George had been talking about in the corridor, but his face when he'd seen her…a bad feeling prickled in her chest. She thought she knew what this was about; something he'd mentioned in passing over the summer, and last school year, about his joke shop. Something about leaving.

When she'd been angry in the prefect's bathroom—more angry at herself than anything—she'd stupidly called down his and George's dream for their shop, and had instantly felt like she should've been sorted into Slytherin for how cruel it had been. Because the thing of it was, what he and George had been doing this last year, developing and inventing products, marketing for themselves (against school protocol, but nevertheless)…

He would be brilliant at his dream. But the thought of him leaving made the Shrieking Shack feel desperately cold. If he chose to leave—if he and George really decided it was for the best—she couldn't be selfish, like she'd been with him these last few months. She would have to watch him go and hold onto moments like these, of rendezvous in closets and bathrooms and snowy walks and stolen kisses, instead of holding onto him. But she could do it. She just didn't want to have to.

She met Fred's eyes, and a moment of understanding passed between them that she didn't think really needed to be followed up with words. She knew he knew that she knew…well. They just had an understanding.

With a sigh, Fred crawled over and sat beside her, facing the fire. She let her head drop on his shoulder.

"I'm scared of centipedes," he said suddenly. "And I actually like Celestina Warbeck. When George and I were little, we went for three days pretending to be each other, and no one knew the difference. I cried."

Smiling, Hermione peered up at him without lifting her head. "Really?"

"Give us a break. I was only fourteen." She stared. "I'm kidding. I was five."

"Oh." After thinking for a moment, Hermione sheepishly admitted, "I never really stole an aero bar. I lied."

Laughing pleasantly, Fred rolled down onto his back, tugging her with him, so that her head was nestled between his arm and chest, and she could hear him breathing, a sound like slow ocean waves coming up on the sand.

"I know."

* * *

"Um, hi."

Fred withheld a smile as Hermione, standing nervously at the front of the Hog's Head in front of about twenty students, began, "So you all know why we're here. We need a teacher. A proper teacher. One who's had real experience defending themselves against the dark arts."

The last three days had been some of the happiest he could remember, ranking up there with the time he and George had snuck out and flown their brooms to Ireland and camped out on the northern coast. His Hermione encounters were still rare—she'd been busy planning for this top secret meeting all week—but each one was like a burst of sunlight hitting the snow, totally brilliant and blinding. Yesterday, while it was still dark out, he'd woken to a find a folded paper airplane ticking on his forehead, anxious to be read. An invitation. When he'd stumbled blindly to the dormitory door, a bathrobe pulled on hastily over his pajama pants, Hermione had been waiting with a sheepishly cute grin. They walked along the foggy shores of the lake and eaten pastries while the sun had risen. The weird looks Fred had gotten as he'd walked back to the Gryffindor common room, whistling and in his bathrobe, had been worth it. And as a matter of interest? His bathrobe was an ugly brown, much too short around his ankles, frayed, and Ginny had once spelled it to curse whenever he wore it, so it occasionally shouted tired profanities at passersby. And Hermione was still totally worth it.

The thought of leaving Hogwarts was getting less and less attractive. George could tell. He kept giving Fred grim looks and shaking his head, and he'd gotten in the habit of muttering when he saw Hermione coming their way. He was understanding enough…but his plans were tethered to Fred's, and Fred understood it wasn't exactly fair for the outcome of his and Hermione's relationship to be the deciding factor in whether or not George left Hogwarts as well.

"Fred. _Fred_." George was elbowing him.

The meeting was over. Shaking his head, Fred stood and got in line to sign his name to what they were calling Dumbledore's Army. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were standing behind the table, looking excited at everyone's response—especially Hermione. Fred realized belatedly that he'd heard her use You-Know-Who's real name, and felt a warm wave of pride. That was his girl. He wondered if Ron would stab him with an ink pen if he tried kissing her right now.

* * *

"So it's a—"

"It's a macadamian mockball."

"And it—"

"Watch." Fred took the golden gumball from Hermione, popped it in his mouth, and chewed it up. Then he cleared his throat, batted his eyelashes, and said, "It's not _spew_, Ronald, it's _S-P-E—_"

"Stop, stop!" Hermione pleaded, her face a shade of berry as she put her hands to her cheeks and grimaced. "Ugh, that's my voice! That's awful!"

They were in Zonko's, in one of the back corners, sorting through Fred's bag of purchased items that he called "inspiration". Hermione had found him back here, reading the backs of boxes with a studious expression that she'd never seen him use at school. Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Neville were all getting butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks, while according to Fred, George was off performing his own valuable research. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she'd seen him at a table outside The Three Broomsticks, putting the enviable Weasley twins' charm to work on a fifth year Hufflepuff.

As Fred swallowed the mockball, he shuffled his hand around in his Zonko's bag, mumbling in a voice that was still just a little too high, "Where's it at…come here, you little devil…Ah. Here. Something for you."

Hermione went up on tiptoe with interest, trying to get a glimpse into the bag. She couldn't think of anything she'd much like from the joke shop—aside from Fred himself, of course—but there was always something exciting about getting a gift, and a gift from Fred was bound to be interesting. She shyly looked him up and down while she thought his attention was on the bag. The way he started grinning devilishly said she'd thought wrong.

"Now, you might already have this one," he began, and Hermione looked up in surprise. "But this is a bit of a special edition."

At first when he held out his hand, she thought it was a small ring box, the kind that came from a jewelers. Then she realized it was the world's tiniest, most compact book, the gold script on its brown leather cover tiny enough for dolls. She squinted to make it out, reading slowly, "The Magic No. 7, a Study of the Life and Works of Bridget Wenlock, Armancer Supreme."

Fred, watching her face for a reaction, said, "_Expanderus,_" and the book started growing, unshrinking till it weighed down his hand and he nearly dropped it. The book was now roughly the size of the record player Hermione's father kept in his study.

"Fred, this is brilliant!" she gasped excitedly, taking the book from him, her back arching with the effort of just lifting it. "I never knew they had done a compilation of Bridget Wenlock's works! I wonder if they cover the Number Debates of the 13th century warlocks in…oh, just thank you!"

There really weren't words. She set the book down with a deep bass _thump_ and leaped at him, and Fred, cackling, caught her, his back thudding against the wall of joke products. The kiss finely summed up their last few days. Perfect.

They couldn't know that everything was about to go spectacularly wrong.

* * *

fusselvieh - i agree on the hermione-is-being-annoying front. but i really felt that that would be the side effects of her struggle over falling in love with fred weasley. i think she's on the up and up now that she's coming to terms with the fact that she really does love him, and that that really is okay.

starfire8001 - thank you so much! that's exactly the kind of response that keeps me writing. :)

dominumkitten - i can't give away spoilers, but it is sticking with the movies. however, stuff will be happening underneath the story line, squeezed in to make it seem like it could've really been happening in the movies in scenes we didn't see. all will be revealed in good time, buaha.

thank you everyone for your kind encouragement and excitement, hope to hear from you again!


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